He had once thought that what had been added there was a ticking time bomb.

 

Now he simply thought of it as him.

 

He let his hand drop to his side as he watched the bus pull up to the curb. The

doors opened and he climbed on, gave his ticket to the driver, and walked to the

back.

 

A cascade of smells enveloped him, mostly of the fried-food and unwashed-bodies

variety. Everyone on the bus watched him as he passed. Women’s fingers curled

more tightly around their purses.

 

Men watched him with defensive looks and fists ready. Children simply stared

wide-eyed.

 

He just had that effect on people, he supposed.

 

He sat in the very rear, where the stench from the lone restroom might have

overwhelmed someone who had not smelled far worse.

 

Rogers had smelled far worse.

 

In seats catty-corner across the aisle from him were a man in his twenties and a

girl of the same age. The girl was in the aisle seat.