By Jack Fairlane
No coffee no tea no cheddar no Colby for the little fat man in clown pajamas standing on the street corner waiting for the bus in the rain.
He was smoking a cigarette under his big clown umbrella. He heard his shoes squeaking on the floor of a lecture hall far away as he prepared for a dream of a day at college. He taught clownishness.
The bus picked him up. He paid his money and walked past the sullen driver and all the strange people who always rode the bus on dark rainy afternoons. He found a seat in the back and sat down.
Across the aisle a large fly and his pet flea sat next to each other. The fly said soft soothing words to the flea, which drooled blue spittle onto the seat and seemed pleased.
The bus drove through the rain, going up and down many hills and jostling everyone around. The little man looked up and saw a large mass of curly dark green hair hovering over the seat in front of him. He tried to ignore it and looked out the window at the gray clouds and dark blue sky moving by outside.
The fly spoke to its flea again in a loud grating voice which the clownish man found irritating. The insects began to argue. The fly began to fight the flea. The man picked up a newspaper from the floor and reached across the aisle and struck the fly across its head. A chasm opened between its eyes, full of darkness and flashing colored lights. Thick gouts of black bug blood flew everywhere. Some of it landed on the clown mans face. The blood tasted like barbecue sauce.
He wiped the spicy blood away and looked again. A tiny fly buzzed around a speck of melted runny chocolate on the floor. Another small bug that the man couldn’t place crawled on the seat.
The driver slammed on his brakes and cursed at a raggedy old dog that was walking in front of the bus. The clownish man took advantage of the distraction and quickly lit a cigarette, ducking down in his chair and taking a couple of drags before throwing it out into the rain. The huge hair concealed him. It looked like green, leafy trees moving in the breeze coming through the open window.
The little fat man looked outside again. The steaming purple clouds in the sky rushed towards the bus and suddenly turned black.
A few moments later he woke from his afternoon nap and got up from his recliner in the living room of his downtown apartment. He walked into the kitchen in his crazy clown pajamas and threw some leftover chicken bones in the trash. He opened the refrigerator. He ate some cheese and crackers and drank some iced tea and watched the thunderstorm outside. He scratched a mosquito bite on his arm. Then he sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette and read his lecture notes.
JACK FAIRLANE writes and writes and writes all kinds of stuff in his little apartment in Bellevue, Nebraska. He recently managed to snag an honorable mention award in L. Ron Hubbard's sci fi short story contest. Jack also really wants to get his toilet fixed soon so he can go to the bathroom. He's been backed up for days.