Open Letter to the Bus Driver Who Did Not Widow My Wife

Dear Bus Driver Who Did Not Widow My Wife,

Thank you from the bottom of my dumb-ass heart.  I am a F*$&ing idiot.  No excuses.  Had you, dear bus driver, splattered me all along Hillsborough Street this morning, it would have been entirely my fault.  Granted, I was in a designated cross walk, but that was about the only aspect of my Super Dave Osborne-esque temptation of fate that I got right.  Normally, I am much more cautious and would never attempt to cross at an intersection that is clearly obstructed by trees, I would not have attempted to cross against the light, and I would have been wearing a effing blinky light!  What got into me this morning you ask?  A serious case of momentary lapse of reason is all I can figure.  You see, I have a Half Marathon to run, which I understand that I can't run if I am busted all to hell and back because I lost a game chicken with a bus, but you see . . . my Achilles has been sore since Saturday and that is all I was thinking about.  Well . . . not all . . . he is where I really feel like my frikin  nincompoopery maxes out.  And this my kindly bus driver is true! Not 15 minutes before I tested out my sprinting skill and your brakes, I ran past a guy dressed like the Frikin Grim Reaper!  I know that you want to call bull-shit on this, but it is true.  I would not shit a person, whose quick reflexes just saved me from accidentally pruning my own limb from my family tree. 

It was before dawn and misting out.  I was running past Smoker Friendly/Cigar Express gas station (google it if you think I am making it up) and out of the fog comes a guy dressed in head to toe black, wearing long flowing trench with a black hoodie underneath.  His hood was up and his hands are gloved.  When I first saw him walking towards me I thought "You've got to be kidding me.  The Grim Reaper."  But as he got closer I could feel my pace quicken and my heart beat faster.  I couldn't make out his face as I passed, but really . . . . looking him in the eye was the last thing on my mind.  I went past him and shortly got to my turn around point about a half a block down the street.  When I turned around and headed back the way I had come, to my relief, Reaper dude was gone.  Now, I at the time I didn't think that he step off into the ethereal plane or some shit like that.  I thought that he just turned down a side street of crossed over to the other side of the road.  But now, as I write this letter to my kindly Bus Driver, I am forced to wonder just a bit, if the reaper was doing a bit of scouting.  Because, a mile a half later, even though I was looking both was as I began to cross the street, I did not see your ginormous "vehicle of mass transportation/express to the afterlife". Once again, this was entirely my bad and if it make you feel a bit better, I think I peed a little as I stared into your headlights.

Sincerely,

Greg from Locker 29