There's one of them on every bus; an oulfella with the rheumy eyes and dirty fingernails, hefting plastic bags full of what's almost certainly not shopping, who smells of fag ends and stale drink. The 123 this morning was no exception. He got on at College Green and gave the driver a gappy grin, stowing his Tesco handbags on the luggage rack before fishing in his pockets for change. There were just two of us on the bus, me and a nun tucked into the single seat up front. I like that seat, and I resented her for sitting there. I sat instead in the double seat behind her, and when the oulfella boarded the bus I tucked my coat in under me and made to make room for him. Even though there were 40something seats free. It's only polite, and it's why I have only myself to blame when I complain that people always choose to sit beside me.
This fella didn't, though. He sandwiched himself into the seat behind me and we sat there, himself, myself and the nun, bobbing along as the bus rattled out towards Marino. I could feel him bursting for a chat, but he said nothing. A few more passengers got on on O' Connell St. but nobody sat near him. I buried myself in my book. As the bus lumbered up Cathal Brugha St. he started to sing in a low growl behind my ear. Oh poor old Dicey Reilly, she has taken to the sup! And poor old Dicey Reilly, she will never give it up! It's off each morning to the pop that she goes in for another little drop, but the heart of the rowl is Dicey Reilly... He giggled to himself. She will walk along Fitzgibbon Street with an independent air! And then its down by Summerhill, and as the people stare... I got the joke, and giggled two. Like schoolgirls, the pair of us.
The bus had emptied out again by the time we got to Croyden Park, and there were just the three of us left. Himself, myself and the nun. He rang the bell to get out off the roundabout, and I could hear him rooting in his pockets as he stood up. "Here" he said "this is for you. Have a lovely day now!" In his hand he had a bar of chocolate. "Are you sure?" I asked, and he pressed it into my hand and gave me a wink. He shuffled forward and looked down at the nun. "And one for the clergy? I don't think so!" he sang in falsetto. He picked up his bags and knocked on the driver's window, proffering another bar of chocolate. "For your good self, sir, and thank you very much. Have a lovely day". He stepped off the bus, pulled a face at the nun as it was pulling away and blew me a kiss. And then, delighted with himself, went off about his day.
One of the noble Na'vi savages
