Oh yeah, so continuing with my story...
I last saw Bucky at the Greyhound station where he in a very gentlemanly sort of way unloaded my bag from the trunk of the cab (a '93 Crown Victoria, by the way, I had to applaud him and regale him with my love for The Vic).
The rest of my story is pretty much old news for everyone by now. I got on a greyhound bus headed to Atlanta with Chris, whereupon we sat in the Atlanta station for much upon 2 hours waiting for the Charlotte-bound bus to get a tire fixed. One would wonder if you were to engineer a vehicle having 10 tires, is it possible to run on 9 good ones and one flat? Or better yet...think about the fact that once that one tire is replaced, there's only 9 more that can go bad...
Anyway, after some time wishing I was playing Ms. Pacman instead of eating a 5 dollar gas station quality turkey sandwich, the bus came back gleaming with its northbound, equipped with brand new tire fury, and we hopped on.
One reststop later, and I had my Wendy's fix for the first time months.
After a couple more hours, we had made the complete journey from Hotlanta to Charnothotte.
I still have to hold Charlotte as the one NC city I straight up hate. No apparent reason why...
Anyway, good thing I only had to stay at that bus station for an hour. Chris left on the first bus going north, which I didn't get on because it was stopping in Winston-Salem, but not Greensboro. I had to wait for the next line, and while waiting I was approached by two older folk (somewheres around the age of 30) who evidently spent their college years snorting coke, because they couldn't figure out how to read bus numbers.
All this to say I finally got on the bus, to discover to my amusement that I was darn near the only white guy on the bus except for this punk rock girl, who scared me. The rest were a strangely energetic bunch of middle aged African American folk. Strangely energetic, for it being a bus ride at 11:30 at night. Needless to say, it was a 2 hour trip filled with quirky humor, storytelling, and a polyrhythmic aura.
All this to say, I made it home on a Thursday night/early Friday morn to an awaiting family.
I have come to reclaim the throne of Greensboro and to smite the foes of cool.
So if you didn't know I was back, now it's official for you. As to the entire story...it's a saga for certain, the reason for my reluctant return a book in itself.
I last saw Bucky at the Greyhound station where he in a very gentlemanly sort of way unloaded my bag from the trunk of the cab (a '93 Crown Victoria, by the way, I had to applaud him and regale him with my love for The Vic).
The rest of my story is pretty much old news for everyone by now. I got on a greyhound bus headed to Atlanta with Chris, whereupon we sat in the Atlanta station for much upon 2 hours waiting for the Charlotte-bound bus to get a tire fixed. One would wonder if you were to engineer a vehicle having 10 tires, is it possible to run on 9 good ones and one flat? Or better yet...think about the fact that once that one tire is replaced, there's only 9 more that can go bad...
Anyway, after some time wishing I was playing Ms. Pacman instead of eating a 5 dollar gas station quality turkey sandwich, the bus came back gleaming with its northbound, equipped with brand new tire fury, and we hopped on.
One reststop later, and I had my Wendy's fix for the first time months.
After a couple more hours, we had made the complete journey from Hotlanta to Charnothotte.
I still have to hold Charlotte as the one NC city I straight up hate. No apparent reason why...
Anyway, good thing I only had to stay at that bus station for an hour. Chris left on the first bus going north, which I didn't get on because it was stopping in Winston-Salem, but not Greensboro. I had to wait for the next line, and while waiting I was approached by two older folk (somewheres around the age of 30) who evidently spent their college years snorting coke, because they couldn't figure out how to read bus numbers.
All this to say I finally got on the bus, to discover to my amusement that I was darn near the only white guy on the bus except for this punk rock girl, who scared me. The rest were a strangely energetic bunch of middle aged African American folk. Strangely energetic, for it being a bus ride at 11:30 at night. Needless to say, it was a 2 hour trip filled with quirky humor, storytelling, and a polyrhythmic aura.
All this to say, I made it home on a Thursday night/early Friday morn to an awaiting family.
I have come to reclaim the throne of Greensboro and to smite the foes of cool.
So if you didn't know I was back, now it's official for you. As to the entire story...it's a saga for certain, the reason for my reluctant return a book in itself.
Nathan Prime 01:57
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