this week on the busblog
i was trying to prove God to this buddist at the baja fresh and i saw my old boss signalling me from the salsa station.
my old fbi boss.
i excused myself and met him in the men’s room.
“long time, agent.”
“not that long, really, seems like yesterday.” i said.
“hows the xbi treating you?”
“the what?”
“ok, well, whatever. tony we want you back.”
“im touched.”
“we miss you and we need you.”
“you cant afford me.”
“what, are you suddenly materialist? has the xbi spoiled you?”
“it’s not money that i want.”
“figured as much, what do you want then?”
my old boss wasnt much of a negotiator, especially with me. all he would ever say is “no.”
“i want my old flying car back and i want to be a superagent, and i want my old territory back.”
“sorry kid, no can do. santa monica is taken.”
“yeah, i know, by your son-in-law. is he still in the hospital?”
“hal is back, he’s fine, thank you.”
“well, those are my terms, my fish tacos are getting cold.”
someone knocked on the door, my boss yelled, “one sec, buddy.” then he said, “we could get you your car.”
“and i want to pick my partner,” i added.
“next you’ll be telling me that you want to pick your boss.”
“get me santa monica back, and let me pick my partner and i’ll be happy with you as my boss.”
“boy, that’s a change.”
my boss always liked to get close to me and whisper in my ear. that never sat well with me, but i understood his motives.
he said, “i’ll see what i can do, agent. but your partner has to be someone from the bureau. none of those xbi hoodlums.”
i washed my hands with hot water and soap. my boss looked at his male pattern baldness and primped. i dried off with the papertowels and threw all but one in the trash and used the remaining towel to protect my soon-to-be fishy fingers and opened the door.
like a gentleman i allowed my boss to exit first.
he said thank you and as he passed, i attached a bug to the collar of his suit coat.
but not at the xbi.
i miss you austin texas. i miss your bbq houses, i miss your texan beer. i miss walking down the street and hearing one band after another. i miss waking up in my motel room to the shrieks of the girls next door engaged in an early morning pillow fight, i miss the long nights of shots with