Greyhound Blues

One evening in the greyhound…
You’ve got the washed up, rotted toothed, long-haired bony dirt talking shits in d’back,
with the Ring Leader always too loud, emphatically and rabiddly shoutin stories
followed by unremitting instantaneous laughter,
The other dogs round him yappin like coyotes, yankin at the dumb cigarette stick king’s Pipe n’ Cahonas

“Wait till I get off the bus in fuckin Vancouver. Ohh, first thing I’ll do is get beer. Fucking Detox, Fuck Detox, I’ll Detox myself, take a fuckin cross country tour! (AHHAAHHAHAROWEURRKHHEEHEUH!!)”

His possee’s an eccletic groupe, age-wise that is. Younger kid chain smokes as many cigarettes he can on bus breaks. Theres one the dirty ring leader refers to as ‘Big Gyy’; he’s older than the rest, seems bout 50ish, big bellied’, whitest sheep you could find — likes to please the powerful.
He’d be the first to die ina Mob movie, got no game.
A couple in the back; girl’s got a squirly voice, blond. Her skin’s all wrinkled, most likely relics of a hard life of substance abuse. Her boy don’t speak much. She definitely likes being the only girl round thsoe scraggly hounds… Oh I wouldn’t call em’ hounds, strays is more like it. She must get off on her Hormones.
Rat King keeps screaming harsh attrocities at Cooky Wiley (cute lookin) spanish mama sittin alone (there is reason for this) in the middle of the bus. There is no use for me to attempt to describe her; I wish I could capture some of her wild essence, throw it unto this here page, and delight in the magical translation ofd essence to words explaining clearly and majestically (because this would be some kind of majestic), as accurately as possible, the iceberg of the person she is.
ITS ALSO very important to mention that Rat King is sitting alone, also, and might I add, he is very suitingly placed afront the toilets.

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