COTA Chatter

I like to sit in the back of the bus. There are usually more seats there. I get a nice long gaze at everyone who steps aboard. Also, I occasionally get an earful of some very interesting conversations.

So I sit down, back-most, passenger side bench. On this model bus the two last benches face each other, with one long bench along the back wall of the bus. So, I sit down. Five men along the back and opposite bench are already engaged in a conversation. I wish I could remember more lines from it all, but it quickly became obvious what they were talking about: guns. Buying and selling guns.

One of the men seated directly to my left had a gun for sale. I couldn't exactly determine what kind of gun it was, but I certainly caught his asking price.

"I can't take less than a bill for it, man."

This was repeated many, many times to a man to his left who seemed to want it for something less than a bill. I think that a bill indicates a $100 bill. My associates generally confirms this suspicion.

The conversation ran along these lines for a while:

"Hey man, how much you want for that piece?"

"I can't take less than a bill for it. I can't take less than I paid for it, man."

The man on the far side of bench and the man facing opposite me were having their own conversation. I couldn't really pick all of it up and, believe me, I really wasn't trying to appear interested. I had reflective sunglasses on (aviators, if you must know) and I was watching out of the corner of my left eye. Out of the corner of my left eye I was watching when the man seated opposite me pulled a loaded magazine out of his pocket to show the man next to him.

Whoa. Cool.

They kept "haggling" over this gun, dancing round that urban maypole. Then this precious gem was uttered:

"Hey, you know my boy Face?"

I don't know who Face is, but he must be the guy to know. Since that day I have seen his "tags" on a number of buses. My boy face. I love it.

That night, late, faintly, but not very faintly, I heard gunshots.