The V8 Bus


I suppose it’s not particularly pleasant, being crushed by 35,000 vegetables. I managed to make it fun.

I was on the #11 bus going home. Suddenly, the 35,000 (estimated) riders turned into an assortment of vegetables right before my eyes.

Well, that’s how I kept myself entertained, anyway. Using my imagination that day on the crowded bus. Not a special day. An everyday.

Right behind me was a lady, ah, beefsteak tomato. It wasn’t just her body shape – “roundtund”. As the bus jutted ’round car and cyclist, she pressed against me, emitting a squishing sound. Not good for tomatoes, I thought. I turned, and the tomato was bruised. Clearly too ripe. Useful only for a spaghetti sauce now.

A male and female carrot were smooching five feet from me. Carrots, because of their pencilish heads and necks graduating into wider bottoms, and long frilly hair. I assumed they were married. They were bound together with that twist tie grocery stores often use. I can never undo those. I wonder if they can.

Yes, you also had your rutabagas, butternut squashes, mushrooms and asparaguses. A human medley.

A girl carrying a violin, or maybe…a fiddle? I turned her into a fiddlehead.

Thankfully, no garlic nearby.

And the eyes. Everyone had vegetable eyes. I learned not to look vegetables in the eye.

It was dinner time, and I was starving. If only there had been a few heads of lettuce, I could have cobbled together a nice salad.

Then I saw her. The immensely thin woman. Not a vegetable. A pizza crust. I was so tempted to push her into the beefsteak tomato lady, and they would fall onto the sweaty cheddar man, and I have myself the makings of a pizza. There’s my dinner.

That day, on the crowded bus.

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