The Strange Day of A.M. Moscoso

My bus ride home from work in Seattle isn’t a bad ride, it’s not even a boring ride.

Some people   I ride with are interesting- we talk about movies, books, our pets what we have planned for the weekend, there are people I don’t talk to but I do watch because they always look angry or bored  but my personal favorites are the people who are determined not let anyone sit next to them.

It’s a little mini-drama, each time the bus stops to let people on the drama begins.

Will the next person on board sit next to them? Will they not sit next to them? Will they drop dead before they get a chance to sit next to them? Should I get up and sit next to them at the last minute just when they think they have the entire seat to themselves because sometimes I feel like quite the little devil?

Today I was lucky- a Mom and her little boy, who looked to be around six years old sat next to me on the long bench seat at the front of the bus.

She had a pierced tongue and he was dressed in jeans and a nice white t-shirt, he had an old school crew cut  and he was wearing brand new Carhart boots.

They looked like they had walked out of two different time streams- he from the 50’s, she was a biker chick from the late 90’s.

They both started to compare the bus to the way the bus smelled like a Bus Station bathroom right after they had cleaned it, in fact the bus she said smelled like urinal cakes and her son agreed..

The people sitting across from us ( One lady was one of my ‘ this is my seat, darn you, walk on ) looked offended.

I laughed and agreed because you know, when the air conditioner went on the bus did smell like a freshly cleaned public bathroom.

After we chatted about the way the bus smelled we moved on to another topic and we bonded:

The little boy asked me if I liked ” The Minions ” and I said that I did. I told him I loved the movies, had the toys and I had gotten a Minion t-shirt from my Mom for Christmas.

The little boy and his Mom had a Kindle with the Minions game on it and I watched him play.

He showed me a few things and when his turn was up he gave it to his Mom for her turn and he looked at me right in the eye, which I liked.

” Who is Shaymus? he asked me.

That was when my bus ride took a little side trip.

” Who?” I asked.

” Is he your dog?”

” Is who my dog?”

I saw his Mom give us the side eye from her game, she was all ears.

” Shaymus. ” he said. He looked at me again and then he said carefully. ” Saymus?”

” My dog is named Hamish” I told him.

Photo A.M. Moscoso


I didn’t ask him how he knew that, I didn’t at that time wonder if I knew the boy and his Mom or if they had ever rode the bus before and over heard me talking about my dog. I just looked at him and waited for the next question.

” What’s your cat’s name?” he asked.

” Darwin.” I said.

He looked skeptical.

I have three cats and I love them dearly but my cat Wolfgang who passed away it 2008 at the age of 17 is always on my mind.

It was a teeny fib on my part and we both new it.

The little boy looked straight into my eyes and through the back of head.

He touched my arm and said there were other games on his Kindle he could show me.

I took it as a peace offering of sorts.

Then it was his turn at Minions and he insisted on showing me some moves on the screen and I left the Twilight Zone because it was time to leave. I can’t believe I did that so quickly, but there are times when you listen to that little voice in your head and things for the most part turn out well for me when I do.


I could  speculate about the little boy and our conversation about  Hamish and my Cat whose name I held back to see what would happen because playing devilish games is what I do sometimes.

I enjoy writing about the odd,the Macabre, I love to look at life through a fun house mirror.

And to turn a phrase-

Sometimes those things look into me.


Photo: AM. Moscoso