Son of the son of the...It's a fun story thing.

Hello kind readers! I have been tagged. Here's the rules:

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it's okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that's five interesting threads the story spins off into.Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours.


Here is the beginning of this adventure (compliments of the mad scientist who started this, Splotchy):

The bus was more crowded than usual. It was bitterly cold outside, and I hadn't prepared for it. I noticed that a fair number of the riders were dressed curiously. As I glanced around, I stretched my feet and kicked up against a large, heavy cardboard box laying under the seat in front of me.

And the continuation by Bubs:

Its owner, a fat shifty-looking hillbilly, slouched uncomfortably under the weight of his Bulgarian army surplus wool coat and cap. I could tell he wasn't cut out for this weather. He jerked around, almost spastic, when he felt the box tap against his feet. He gulped and stared at me bug-eyed, one obscene rivulet of sweat running down his temple, down along his jaw, finally disappearing somewhere between his second chin and the fake fur collar of his coat.

Right away, and for no good reason, he pissed me off.

(and my contribution):

I wasn't exactly in the mood for any bullshit today. Yesterday, sure. I went looking for it. But today, not so much.

I had already missed my regular bus because sometime in the middle of the night the power had gone out and my alarm clock doesn't run on good intentions.

Normally, I would catch the 6:52 into work, but here I was on the 7:42, affectionately called "The Geek Train" by locals.

Going for a world record bad day I kindly asked Mr. Bulgaria if he would mind directing his stank breath in the other direction.



I tag:
Spare Change
Jimmy City
Tanya Espanya
Earth Muffin
Tankboy


**Edited to add Wonder Twins Power...Inebriate! to the story writing fun.