A Sunday Story and 4 Sweet Rides

Sunday morning we caught a bus, on our way to the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass festival. At the very back of the bus a man was talking very loudly, to himself, or to someone who wasn’t actually there. Or maybe he was just addressing the universe in general. Not an uncommon phenomenon in the city. He was neatly dressed, shoes shined, probably in his 40s. As the ride went on I could pick out a few words here and there- Jesus, Moses, the Phillipines, the Pope, Palestine, Israel, Mother Theresa. There was something enjoyable about it, unlike most crazy people yelling on buses. He spoke with some urgency, but not anger. Maybe because it was sunday morning and this was the closest thing to a sermon I’d heard since I was a child. After a couple miles he got off and went on his way. I wish I could somehow pierce his mental illness enough to thank him for his words.

On to the rides:

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