Cockroaches

"Fuck"
Said my bus neighbor. "Fuckin' cockroaches". As I sit idly or ideally, by him I begin to inch further away. My fears are unjustified though. Why would this lumping proletariat riding the chariot of the people try to harm little whacked out me? These fears are inconsequential though for in that moment of time I thought like a rabbit in a snare. Minus the screaming and kicking. Although that did come to my noodle.
"Pardon?" I ask hesitantly. Pardon? Is that damn judge after me again? I digress however. After getting on this busing vehicle at a street that has no meaning or consequence in this story I went, naturally to the back of the busy. Don't want to hob-nob with the driver, a grumpy baby-boomer who wants nothing more then to let teens not beat the living Matlock outta him. I pay the man. Capitalism is still running smooth. I move my ten dollar sneakers to the back of the bus. Near a sketchy looking character. We are kindred spirits he and I. Shady, unsure of what we're up to. We mostly hang about in darkened alleys waiting. For what, you ask? You'll never know. WE don't even know. Or do we?
"Cockroaches, man" The raspy slightly drunk/high voice of my new found soul mate explains. "They're all cockroaches. Scurry around their pathetic lives and when they see the light the hide from it, Man." I am unsure why he thought I was the Man. I dressed much like him. My red checked shirt sheltered underneath a cracked leather jacket. These questions are meaningless however as I have seen his inner turmoil brought up.
"You mean these people?" I ask, fearing for not my life but the life of...well actually my life. These people who tend to rant to complete strangers usually end up on the bell tower wearing a viking helmet singing John Philip Sousa while popping off passers-by. Oh, wait. That's me. My friend, whom I will name Bob, nods his shaggy bearded head. His look of utter disgust and slightly vacant stare put me into his state of mind. We are one.
Silently I think that he's right. People are afraid of the truth. We hide when the great light of truth goes on. Shy away from its blatant oppressive staring eye. We run around putting on airs of superiority and strut like roosters in our proverbial roost. Kings and queens of all we perceive. Except as far as we can see is the plank. I look with a new found respect at Bob. He has uncovered what most never do. Granted, he had some chemical help but nonetheless he is at the apex of thought.
I stare in new vigor at this new Plato, this peon Socrates, this uncouth Aristotle. Hoping for more of his deep, Buddha like wisdom I eagerly await his new statement of truth. To which he promptly passes out. When I left the bus at a stop that was not mine (although I'm sure that someone has it) I walk with a purpose to a place I don't know. Bobs ramblings could be put down as nothing and I could carry on with my little messed up life and not ever think these things. Too many things rattle in my brain. Too much story, too much narrative, or maybe just too much.
I doubt if I will see Bob again or indeed if he will remember that fantastic Wednesday night. I'd like to think he will. As I lay my head on my mattress in my shoe box apartment I smile a smile of contentment. No cockroaches do I fear. People will be people until that orange ball kills us all. Its just the government Nazis I fear. Cockroaches some may be, but they are cockroaches needed to be turned to the light.