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cuts closer to the front, but I told him that some of the other passengers might not take too kindly to that. The line behind us was 15 feet long by now.

He decided that that was good advice.

He returned to my side and fidgeted back and forth, nervous about something.

"Ya know, some of those guys up ahead are gonna cut in front o' me before I can get a seat."

"Hmm" I managed.

"Somewhere before Salem some girls got ahead of me in line, so there was no more room on the bus. I had to wait a long time for another one."

"Hmm."

"They were laughing at me" C.L. said.

I was starting to think this guy had forgotten to take his meds- a suspicion that was confirmed in short order.

He looked at our baggage and saw the SLC tags.

"So you're going to Salt Lake City, huh?"

"Yup."

"Are you guys Mormons?" C.L. asked.

When I confirmed that we were, he said "Praise the Lord!" though I'm not sure why.

"Ya know, Mormons have lots of money. They're rich" C.L. soberly informed me.

Describing my present financial situation to him quickly dispelled that misconception.

The money question now answered, C.L. moved on.

"Now, my father- he believed in masturbation. But I think it's wrong."

"Stop talking to me, okay?"

As he turned to some other poor sap for conversation, I stood there in a daze, wondering how much crappier I'd be feeling by the time we got underway, but relieved that I wouldn't have to listen to him for a while.

45 minutes later the line behind me was 30 feet long. C.L. had wandered away several times, but unfortunately found his way back every time.

As the line moved forward and closed up, two heavy-set Native-American girls came out of nowhere and planted themselves in front of me. They quickly glanced at me, then the others, giggling and showing no sense of shame. The way I was feeling, it was all I could do to shrug it off. I didn't have the energy or desire to start anything. Besides that, they had a weight advantage.

The doors finally opened and we moved closer to the blessed bus. When we were a few feet from the doors, C.L. approached the driver.

"Where's the bus gonna stop for food?" he asked in a loud voice.

"Where are you going?" the driver said.

After he gave his destination, the driver, who was starting to get irritated, looked at some paperwork.

"You're in the wrong line!" he yelled at C.L. "Go to the back of the line for Door 12."

Away C.L. went, while I thanked the heavens for small favors.

We were soon climbing the bus steps, then staking our claims for seats. We ended up about four

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