Crosstown Traffic

“One, two, three, four everybody on the floor!”  Nobody so much as flinched.  We were on a crosstown bus, when an old unshaven man got on and yelled at everyone to take cover.  “It was death from the sky man!  It was death from above”.  He shuffled past the driver without paying and into the only vacant seat, which was next to me.  It turned out that Gerard was a regular on this bus and people had become accustomed to him delivering military style orders from the front to anyone who cared to listen, before he took his seat.  He had been a paratrooper in Vietnam and was now homeless.  According to the other passengers he relived his time in the army almost every day, when travelling across town.  As he revealed more of the details of his story I grew more sorry for him.  “When you come back from war son, you sure as hell can’t go back.  You can’t go back to the way things were.  That’s for sure.”
“I see what you mean” I said, only I didn’t really at that time.  He stank of urine and cheap alcohol and I recoiled at the stench coming off him.  I eyeballed Mark and Finch in the hope that they would join in the conversation.  But they were just as awkward as me.
“Military won’t have nuthin’ to do with me now boys” he shook his head and then clamped his hand onto my leg  “I fought for this country” he was getting angrier by now.  “I’m an American!”. 
  Then he began telling a story about people we had never heard of on their way out to do a tour of duty in Vietnam.  But he forgot one of the dates in the story and then just started telling it again form the beginning.  All around us we seemed to uncover the wrecks of different lives, all of which had been washed up here in the big bad city.