Jimmy Opendoors always enjoyed travelling by bus.
In the bus the driver is the only responsible for taking decisions, he watches out for the road and the traffic, and the passenger get the possibility to look around, smiling to nice people and coping with the nasty ones.
Furthermore, on that sort of vehicle, one can meet a particular kind of people, those which, by choice or necessity, keep themselves faraway from the car-system.
It’s niche humanity, as the Indians in the reserves or the aristocrats on the coach.
Among the interesting features of the bus, Jimmy loved the confusion of idioms which sometimes went up, rising tone with the red light and almost exploding when approaching to a stop.
Sounds and languages recreating the atmosphere of mysterious countries, and which in a minute carried you in the heart of India or for a walk in Morocco.
Once, on a tramway, he was part of the most classic of the scene: the vehicle seemed a piece of tropical forest, where the racket of plants and animals become a concrete, touchable element, a fourth dimension.
Flinging himself from one bar to the other as a metropolitan Tarzan, Jimmy Opendoors knocked against two old ladies.
May be for his frizzy hairs of for the strange clothes, the two white mistresses started reciting the usual litany of insults, declaring that here was not his place, inviting him to come to an end and go back home…
Jimmy, who did recognise one of his assailants as Mrs. Lippy, living on the fourth floor, would have liked to clear the misunderstanding, but couldn’t find the right words.
He could have said: I am English, but lately he was not too proud of it, he could have appealed to the human rights, but the recent international happenings did undermine such a petition.
A recall to good manners seemed indelicate towards the two old, white, dear ladies.
Then he made use of what he had in his pocket, throw out the ticket and said: I have paid.