On the bus this morning the woman sitting in front of me spent the entire trip putting on her make-up, clutching a small, smudged mirror in one hand while deflty working the various tools -- including that same kind of eyelash tool that I remember my mother using when I was a child. Can that be the state of the art in eyelash manipulation?
As she applied her make-up, the woman kept glancing cautiously over her shoulder at the man in the seat behind me. I had headphones on, but could just make out low mumbling. I turned the volume down on the headphones the better hear what was going on, and was surprised to hear that the guy was singing. It wasn't a recognizable song, but rather a rambling, stream of conscsiousness rumbling.
I got off the bus, went into Mike's on Superior and 6th to by a donut. The woman with the make-up entered just ahead of me. She looked nice.
A few minutes later, waiting to cross the street at 6th and St.Clair, I noticed perfectly normal-looking guy walking downthe street, sipping coffee and talking animatedly to himself.
You don't see this kind of stuff in Bay Village.
Bob Rhubart: Humor. Opinion. Comment. Rants. Neurosis. Sometimes all at once.
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