The place from which I start my commute doubles as a mediocre zoo. Perhaps that's not a fair assessment; I haven't been inside since a much-hyped 1987 field trip. The Turtleback Zoo proved a far superior destination than Kings Supermarket, site of our other third-grade outing. But the luster has rusted. After a friend's six-year-old nephew hit up the zoo recently, he said his favorite animal on display was "geese."
I'm sticking with my opening-sentence appraisal.
On Friday, a crusty retiree joined us rank-and-file bus peons. I'm not sure what business he had in New York City. That's surprising, considering I know what he did the night before (check out cherry blossoms), his wife's worst driving fear (negotiating bridges at night), and his "number one pet peeve" (our government's 1979 bailout of the Chrysler Corporation).
Like the geese at the zoo behind us, we were on exhibit. The retiree bought a ticket. Now he felt free to stick his fingers in the cages of commuters in captivity.
Unlike the geese, I was loving it. This guy was the new character introduced to ripple stagnant waters, in the tradition of The Great Gazoo, Cousin Oliver and John Bolton.
