Jonathon and Benny get on the bus separately, but are clearly together as Benny wears a tattoo on his neck that is the exact match for Jonathon’s scarring. What follows are six short stories that each explore a different tale of why they got on the bus and where they go from there.
Okay, so I was on the bus, right?
And this guy stomps on, so pissed off that you can smell the anger, you know? Body-building kid, blond and buzz-cut, fucking melt in your chair blue eyes. He’s got the whole package, you know? Worn khakis, plaid button-down with the sleeves cut off, combat boots. Neat enough to suggest that he chooses to dress this way instead of has to, but not a poser. Sweaty, nostrils flaring, sheer fucking primal man.
He stomps on, walks down and sits, staring out the window. He’s got some odd scarring on his cheeks, but his neck is badly carved up — interesting and rough edged — this doesn’t have the intent of razor work or even that fabulous somehow snake-like violence that knife wounds leave. This is a mark of an accident.
At any rate, the bus toodles on and heads toward the next stop. There’s this skinny guy, holding a skateboard, running in the sun like the hounds of hell are after his ass.
He makes the bus, steps up — boarder all way: orange and purple spiky hair, eyebrow and lip pierced, tats, t-shirt, baggy jeans, canvas tennies — bright red and panting. He’s searching through his pockets — no change. The bus driver (a big old black man who maybe has smiled three times in his entire life and all three of those were during blowjobs) barks at him to get off and the kid just sort of blinks and a couple of tears start and he turns to get off the bus.
The big guy sighs, stands up, pays the kid’s fare without a word and takes the kid’s transfer. He walks back and sit in a 3 seat row and the kid sits beside him — not one word. The big guy looks out the window, the boarder sniffling.
Then the kid (although they were about the same age) turns his head. The kid has a tat on his neck the same size/shape as the big guy’s scar.
Pretty fucking cool, huh?
And so the Bus Stories were born. Six different tales that all begin in the same place.
Often referred to as “Space Cowboy” and “Gangsta of Love” while still striving for the moniker of “Maurice,” Sean Michael spends his days surfing, smutting, organizing his immense gourd collection and fantasizing about one day retiring on a small secluded island peopled entirely by horseshoe crabs. While collecting vast amounts of vintage gay pulp novels and mood rings, Sean whiles away the hours between dropping the f-bomb and pursuing the kama sutra by channeling the long lost spirit of John Wayne and singing along with the soundtrack to “Chicago.”
A long-time writer of complicated haiku, currently Sean is attempting to learn the advanced arts of plate spinning and soap carving sex toys.
Barring any of that? He’ll stick with writing his stories, thanks, and rubbing pretty bodies together to see if they spark.
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/SeanMichaelWrites
Where To Buy:
Torquere Press: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=200&products_id=4385
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