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Out of context: Reply #66803
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Get on the bus, sit down across the aisle from a middle-aged man. He has a stack of crumpled, identical postcards that I assume he hawks to tourists at the market.
He seems a little off, but I pay him no mind. Just seems like a weird old man. Ballcap, clean clothes, dad shorts.
He produces a quart of heavy cream and begins to chug it. Several stops later he's finished the whole thing. He starts waving his arms and it looks like he's shouting. I take off my headphones and he's.. shout-whispering to himself?
And this was not English. This was not a language that exists anywhere but in his own head. It was mostly coos and boops. And then I realize that there's a reason he can't sell those damn postcards.
(Do we have a Public Transit of the Day thread? That could take off.)