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FICTIONA Crazy World
The bus only comes on the half hour this late in the evening. But it’s dry and not too cold for mid-February so Jeff doesn’t mind so much. The stop is busy: two girls go on in Japanese by the curb; a couple snuggles in the penetrable shadows; others read the paper, check their mobile phones, count their pennies; while one impatient man, silhouetted in headlights, stretches his neck toward the oncoming traffic. Jeff is thinking about how in 1911 in Paris, the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre. Upon news of the theft, thousands of people flocked to the gallery to stand and gaze on the spot where it once hung. Staring at the empty space, the non-thing. The blue crescent of the 99B finally appears in the distance and the crowd stirs. When Jeff gets on he heads for the back of the bus. He sits down across from a short man who hangs from the overhead strap by one arm shaking his finger at a man sitting across the aisle. “I’m ready for World War III,” the man is saying. “This is a crazy world we live in I tell ya, a crazy world.” “I hear ya man, I hear ya.” “But then again I know rough. You wanna know something about me? I got polio as a child and because of that I only have half a brain. I can’t write. So they stuck me in a mental institution for 6 months.” “Yeah man that’s rough.” “Believe you me, I haven’t forgotten what they did to me in there and they’re scared I’m going to tell what went on. I’m not employable. I can’t write.” “They’re always keeping us down my man.” The bus pulls up to Granville. Jeff gets off. The short man gets off behind him, and takes a quick glance at the oncoming traffic before bounding across the street. Jeff walks down the sidewalk, glancing into the darkened shop front windows, tugging at his coat for warmth. He thinks of the Mona Lisa and the man who had to have her for his own.
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