On my way to P&C’s house, I can’t even begin to describe the myriad of emotions that I was feeling. Suffering from exhaustion, malnutrition, and a bad case of the crazies, I thought my mental state couldn’t get any worse. I was wrong, so horribly wrong.
Caught up in my neuroses, I wasn’t paying attention to the 2 new passengers on the bus…until I heard the one word that would draw me into their conversation: FLEA. To this day I still can’t be entirely sure if this happened, or if I had a temporary mental breakdown and hallucinated the whole thing. I wasn’t drunk or on any drugs but like I said…bad case of the crazies.
Sitting in front of me, the man and woman in their mid-forties, a bit rough around the edges, and clearly slurring their words, were discussing how they were going to go to the woman’s mother’s house to “borrow” some money to buy beer. Once they were done robbing the poor old lady, they weren’t going to a bar to drink, they were heading off to a FLEA MARKET. I’m not judging them mind you, I love flea markets. Oh but I don’t believe in robbing mothers…unless they didn’t breastfeed you as a child and this is what made you gay. That’s ok then. Rob away.
Though I can’t remember their conversation verbatim, it went something like this:
Man: “Where can we buy beer at the flea market?”
Woman: “Forget about the beer. We’re going to buy fleas!”
Man: “That’s funny. How many do we need and how do we package them?”
They then proceeded to cackle and I proceeded to try very hard not to poop myself.
Now that I’m more rational, I still don’t know how one could package fleas.
