Welcome to the joyus circus of public transit

PRE-DAY 1: I have been riding the bus for a couple months, it took a a while to open up my eyes and take a deep breath of what was going on around me(don't worry I didn't want to throw up at the rancor smells that live on RTD buses, actually pretty clean). Being a 6 foot 3 large body, cramming in a less than airline sized seat doesn't appeal to me. Punctuality and me don't get along either, but when it comes to riding the bus, I'm early. Arriving early is crucial in sequestering one of the two rows of seats that have extra leg room, so much room that I occasional find myself slouching to maxmize my body to floor ratio. ironically these oversized seats are adjacent to the handicapped area(RTD logic: put all of the uncomfortable people together, those in a wheelchair next to those with oversized legs. people with oversized legs can sadistically fantasize about not having legs like their neighbor in the wheel chair. RTD I'm onto your charade)
DAY 1: on this particular day I'm rewarded with this thrown of an bus seat. The bus starts to quickly fill and it becomes apparent that I won't have the thrown room to myself. As a beautiful, princess of a woman, walks the aisle, our eyes spark. A whole 45 minutes of titillating conversation and mild flirting brighten my bus ride. The spark is all I'm left as she passes me for an open seat.
I must have missed the joker that laughed at me, when he saw this karmic swap coming. A giant of a man boards the bus and plops down next to. I'm sure he was as glad to see a thrown still available on the bus. I'm now pressed against the emergency release railing of the window(my greatest fear slash rebelious act, is holding up the bus unavoidable by pushing the emergency glass out, or just pulling the cord for a stop no body wants). I feel like a stress release toy, my eyes might just pop out. The man reaches up to his face with sausage links for fingers and buries a knuckle into his nose.
I'm locked into this event.
Its like staring at the sun.
It hurts so bad but I cant retch my eyes away from the vulgarity.
His nostrils bulge with the mass of his finger embedded into his nasal cavity. He withdraws a winner! This greenish gold blob covers the gambit of booger textures. It starts with a crisp dry crunchy anchor and slowly morphs into something that could almost be spat out as phlegm. It very well could as it strings out of his nose. This booger could actually be hacked up and spat out from the otherside. Jack Blacks voice echoes;"If its stuck together its technically one booger". Anything is possible, welcome to the circus.
For David Blanes next trick, I will disappear into the giant blob. My mothers conscientious snaps me back. "You shouldn't stare." The man is enthralled with his catch of the day. He probably would never notice that there is someone slowly being enveloped by actions, as well as, his mass. I avert my eyes to my book, no way am I reading. I just don't want to see where the golden nugget ends up. Its dangerously close to his mouth. anything could happen, David Blane is performing miracles on the 4:05 Boulder Express. I assume that the booger doesn't end up in his mouth by the giggle that resonates his body. He has probably meshed this masterpiece of a archaeological dig from the darkside of his nasal cavern into his masterpiece of thrift store plaid. My guilt of voyeurism shields me from whats going on for a couple minutes.
I'm drawn back in. I want to see whats going on in the other rings of this big top circus. I peel back my guilt and walk back into the big top. The round mass sitting next to me has comfortably fallen asleep. I feel like I could fall asleep. This man is putting off more warmth than a space blanket, a nice contrast to the jet of cold air coming off the window, which i am firmly pressed against. I could just fall asleep, I'm sure this man would make a great pillow.
As I start to find an eerie comfort I see something glimpse over at me from a couple rows in front of me. It looks like an oversized eraser head superglued to a drive-in screen of a forehead. Hooray another ring in this glorious circus. Bus-fare is a better deal than HBO. This enormous mole like growth(no way in science, could this be benign. It must be sought after like the holy grail of Oncology, maybe there is reward money out for it). Its bobbing on the horizon of the seat back. It looks like the hero from a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, riding off into the sunset(the sunset happen to be the oversized forehead). Maybe I should sign this growth to a contract, I could make a pretty penny as its agent. Fugitive mole turns actor, its got street cred. "The mole with no name" in the Good, The Bad and THE Mole.
I swirl about in this ocean of abnormalities, a swell of comfort washes over me. Its not because I can feel well with in the margins of normalcy, in comparison, which I do. These are my neighbors on the bus as well as off. Throwing aside the canvas of the big top circus and all of my preconceived notions, I chat with my neighbor. He has arisen from his slumber and joined me in reading(he has probably been actually reading).
Immediately my shame of internal judgment punches me in the nuts "how could you be mean, this man is a saint." Gasping for air, my inner douche-bag mutters a rebuttal, "a saint of boogers." My inner asshole is to busy gasping and choking to interrupt what has become a splendid conversation. As we get off the bus, the princess tries to create a spark again I can only glean over the conversation I just had. "I don't need you. I have my friend David Blane the saint of boogers." I give my friend a hand shake as we part ways. I would have given a grand hug, but booger doesn't look good on me.