I’m fairly certain I could make daily entries and fill an entire blog with the “interesting” people I meet on the bus every day. Among my favorites was a few months ago, a man whom I shall simply refer to him at The Prayer, for reasons you will soon understand.

Before I moved into my new apartment with purple walls and learned my new bus route, I rode the “express” bus, which picked up people on one residentialish road, then shot us down a couple of major highways and brought us right downtown without stopping, except for the idiots who can’t drive (“Come on, lady!”) along the way

One night after a particularly trying day at work, I walk-jogged (there is absolutely NOTHING grosser than an overweight walk-jogger with boobs flopping every which way) up to Hennepin Avenue, hoping not to get shot, and, more importantly, hoping not to miss my bus. I was relieved to see my beloved 664 flashing its orangey joy at me upon arriving to my stop, and I heaved myself into the bus, where I was forced to sit in the sideways-facing seats (which I hate – oh do I hate). I settled in for the congested ride home, listening to my music and enjoying the absence of a ringing phone that needs to be answered chipperly and not with the grunts or obscenities that I use answer my cell phone.

About 20 minutes into the 25-minute ride, I vaguely noticed the man next to me say something. I snapped out of my daydream (probably about different ways I could maim one of the sales managers), turned down my ipod and directed my attention to the man. I was only a few blocks from getting off the bus. People were jumping ship left and right. They were home. They had made it home safely. God bless them.

“I hope you don’t think I was littering,” The Prayer told me.

“Oh, no, I wasn’t paying attention,” I replied. As in, if you littered (or DIDN’T litter, whatever) and no one saw, why draw attention to it? I waited a few seconds and turned my music back up.

“I was just sprinkling some tobacco,” The Prayer continued. Down again with the music volume so I could reply like a normal person instead of trying to shout over “Jump Around.”

“I didn’t notice,” I replied, probably more shortly than I should have, and looked out the window. Shut up, dude, or I’m going to start thinking about maiming you.

“You see,” The Prayer insisted, “I’m Native American and every morning and every afternoon on the bus I sprinkle tobacco and pray that everyone has a safe journey.”

How the hell do you reply to that? “Oh,” I said, and smiled. “Thank you.”

Without getting into my religious beliefs and my views on tobacco or the fact that I might still qualify that as littering since someone other than that guy has to clean up after his prayer, all I could do was wonder why he didn’t say his prayers at the beginning of the ride instead of at the end. I might have said something to him, too, but it was my stop and I had made it home safely. Amen.

I just saw my crazy friend in Crystal Court for the first time in months and he told me I look terrific. I was flattered since last time he saw me he told me I looked like I was dead.

I'm glad my hours of tanning are finally paying off.