Bus hippies

I saw two dirty hippies, nowhere near a designated bus stop, try to flag down the bus on a busy street. When I say 'dirty hippies', I'm not using it as a term of derision - as in, "those damn dirty hippies got their crusty little twig arms stuck in the peach bin again!", when really it's just a couple of trust fund kids who want to make sure everyone knows they recycle. I mean they looked like they had been ejected from Woodstock '97, have been wandering aimlessly ever since, and were truly crusted in VISIBLE soil, from dred to toe. 

It must have been an odd moment, and I'll never know what caused the urgency, but they were sprinting at full tilt after the bus, waving and screaming like lunatics. I'm not sure what they could have been thinking - that the bus driver would just be like, "Well, we don't usually stop a moving bus for random people in the middle of a busy intersection, but I'll make an exception for Feather and Fawn there," and he would just pssssh! the door open and let them into the land of hemp milk and local organic honey. 

They did not get on the bus. Somewhere in Portland, north of Capitol Highway, there is a shed full of chickens that did not get fed on time. A curled orange leaf falls silently from a tree. It is nighttime in Oregon, and the stars look down on us all.