Midnight Crazy Train

the bright bus was somehow colder than the fridgid air outside, but it was a new fleet and very bright and cheery. though I didn't want to wait outside for the next bus, which was the one I wanted, I got on.
My eyes flicked through the bus for the most iscolated location. Two young girls sitting near the back, nicely dressed and groomed, two seats in front, a man in a metallica shirt who looked like a punk with a cigarette carelessly dangling off his ear and a hardened expression on his face. I chose to sit a couple seats away from the girls. A man got on the bus behind me. I didn't look at him until he had passed me by. he sat on the other side of the bus,three seats up, he was an elderly man with a bunch of what appeared to be groceries but his shirt was a sillhouette of an exotic dancer and it said I support single moms.
At the next stop, the two girls got off the bus. Soon after the man behind me started laughing, maniacally, and saying, oh sugar, oh sugar!. The elderly man in front of me turned around and looked, up and downing me in the process. I kept my eyes locked on the front of the bus. This happened a couple more times, with the laughter and the man in front of me turning around. I debated etting off the bus and waiting for the next one, but by this time I wasn't in a good part of town so I stayed on. Two stops lleft, and then the man in front of me got up, with a bottle opener/corkscrew in his hand, and took a newspaper off the floor by my feet and wrapped his corkscrew thing in it and stuffed the whole thing in one of his bags. Okay.
The laughing man behind me stood up with much effort, and staggered around by the door, barely keeping his own balance and almost falling on me more than once. I tensed my body and rearranged myself at a casual angle that would let me take care of myself in any situation.
When the bus was at the terminal, i got off, and went to my stop. Corkscrew followed me. I sat on the bench. Corkscrew sat beside me. asked me if I was going to the single mothers place in bradford. i told him, no, I was going home. I thought he was drunk. He started talking to either me, or himself, I wasn't sure which, telling me in words of which I could only understand one or two every couple minuites. He took out a smoke and lit it, finishing it in probably under two minuites, and hacked up a lung when he'd finished. Telling me how he fucked up his leg. Something about his wife or girlfriend or something, his elbow and his heel, he patted the top of his foot. I looked like I was bored waiting for the bus, and nodded and asked pardon when his voice lilted up at the end of a sentance, suggesting a question. My parents like to go to fancy dinner parties and show me off, and so I am good at pretending to listen.
When he asked me if I would like a smoke, and held an offered pencil in his hand, I told him, no, I don't smoke, thank you. I got up and spoke to some teenage boys sitting on a bench around a corner who at the moment looked a lot safer in their black hoodies and peircings. They told me I should carry mace or something, and laughed when I told them what happened and we told stories of other crazy people we had come across.
I thought the guy was drunk but I think back now and he was probably on oxys.