Sunday, June 26
The bus pulls up to the stop sign just as an old man in a wheelchair runs full on into me and knocks me to the rain-puddled sidewalk. He waves a saw around over his head and yells. I can barely see anything with my bulging itchy eyes, but I can tell he's scary.
"Take me to downtown City Hall!" he yells. "It's an emergency! Take me to Downtown City Hall!"
"I don't... we have to go to the studio..." I mumble. Rain drips in my eyes and I do my best to wipe it out.
"What are you doing, Old Man?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "What the, what--" The old man begins chasing Mr. Happy Puppet Head in circles around me. "Get the Hell away from me!" yells my floating red friend.
The old man manages to grab Mr. Happy Puppet Head and holds him close to his chest. He then puts the saw against Mr. Happy Puppet Head's face and yells, "Take me to Downtown City Hall! It's an emergency."
Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells loudly and incoherently.
I look towards the big blurry bus at what is probably the bus driver wondering if we're getting on. "Um... no," I wave my hands for it to drive away. "We're okay." The bus drives away.
"See that car down the street at the stoplight?" the old man asks. Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells angrily again, this time using what could almost be understood as bad words.
I squint as much as I can. "No, I can't really see anything," I tell him. That car must be driving really slow, though. "I think you should let him go. He hates hostage situations. Maybe more than anything."
"Take me to Downtown City Hall," he says it slowly this time. "The big metal thing on the roof of the car, it's a bomb. My daughter is going to blow up the city."
"Really?" I ask.
"Yes!" he yells. "I'll saw your friend in half if you don't take me there right now!"
They both yell for a little bit. I try plugging my ears with my fingers, but my eyes itch and I have to scratch them.
"Midnight!" Mr. Happy Puppet Head yells, "Just take him to City Hall!" Then he says some for-real bad words.
"Okay. Fine." I walk around to the other side of the wheelchair and start pushing.
"Curb, curb!" the old man yells as the wheelchair starts falling into the street. I pull it back onto the sidewalk. "You're going to have to tell me where to go and everything," I tell him.
"Downtown City Hall," he says.
The rain is starting to soak through my clothes and I'm cold. Mr. Happy Puppet Head keeps yelling and I'm having a really hard time pushing this wheelchair and itching my eyes at the same time. Pain in the ass.
And it sounds like we might get blown up, too. Nice.