After three buses, one offer for crack cocaine, and a plane ride, I am finally back home. I spent the last three days sleeping off bronchitis and an ear infection, and then visiting the school I interned at on an Indian reservation. All in all, a good few days.
I don't know if I'm just lucky, or what. Somehow, standing in an underground bus station amidst the crowds of the merry and not so merry travelers, I look like I need some drugs. As a twenty-five year old guy asks, "Do you want some cocaine?" all I can do is stare astounded at the transportation security officers less than a block away. After hurriedly reassuring him that I don't, in fact, do drugs, he shuffles off to the next person.
Maybe all trips on public transportation are like this. Maybe everyone is offered drugs while on the way to the airport, and accosted by a man begging for spare change and cussed out when the request is refused. Perhaps everyone ends up sitting next to a very cheerful lady who just happens to be off her meds and is laughing up a storm at nothing and no one.
Somehow, I don't think so.