Riding public transportation back and forth from home to the health club in downtown Minneapolis, I had close encounters with drunks on both rides. The more dramatic one was on the way home. A middle-aged fellow sat near the front and asked everyone within earshot, "What's the good word?" When he got a response from someone, he launched into a Homeric catalogue of his Christmas presents: Rita and Stephanie and Bridget and Lisa and Katie and Diane and Alexis--had cost him $1500 but it's what he wanted, he announced. Disembarking a few blocks after downtown begins to blend with a neighborhood less well-heeled, he nudged someone waiting to board and then engaged him in animated conversation. It seemed to pass, the man boarded, and the bus driver said, "Don't pay him no attention. He been drinking." Whereupon the man exited the bus, crossed the street to where the drunk man was standing, wound up, punched him in the face. The drunk man dropped to a sitting position and waved at the bus as it rolled by.
Happy holidays.
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