The bus is extra crowded these days. Today I got on and drifted toward the rear. A waifish 50 yearly-old man hogging two seats in the back sat firmly clutched to his nap sack. I couldn’t help but stare at his eyebrows – they were longer and curlier than any pubic hair ever abandoned on a football stadium urinal cake anywhere. His eyebrows were so long they touched his ears. I’m serious. How does this happen?

Amazing.

He got off at the next stop.

As I took one of his seats, I noticed the grey “sensitive ponytail” woefully tucked up in his baseball cap. He seemed like a nice enough guy.

“What use?” I wonder.

Does he enjoy the soft hair in his face at night? Is this a request of a current girlfriend? A former girlfriend? I get the sense he never takes it down – like its always left in the generic rubber band he keeps it in. If it is always behind his head, what purpose does it serve?

This is not to say that I come from a camp where one’s hair mandates purpose. But dude’s ponytail looks ridiculous. I bet he’s even a well-regarded chap – but simply known as “Sensitive Ponytail Stan,” or something.

Stan, you deserve better.

Guess what kind of mood I’m in? Answer: I’ve got a cold

Despite the foul smell on this bus (and every bus I seem to ride), I know the sickness surrounding me is not the source of my contamination. It was the well-to-do folks I was forced to film over the weekend. Those well-to-do’s and all their self-important generosity.

It was a fund-raising event.

Someone coughed on my stolen chocolate truffle. Maybe it was the champagne glass - I’m not sure.

I wish my face would stop leaking. I feel fine, really.