Omaha. Almost home. I got two bucks left in my wallet. The bus gets in to Des Moines at eleven at night. Coffee? Nah, I better save it. I'm such a pinch penny. Change busses? Again? OK, the bus I was on now goes south and the bus I want doesn't leave for thirty minutes. I'm surrounded by people. The TSA guy is walking around. Act cool...you're just an old man going home to his wife. You're also carrying enough illegal drugs to wind up in Leavenworth for ten years. But...officer....those hippies must have planted that in my bag.... Uh...right....*snap goes the handcuffs* Just be cool...sit on the bench, watch the Mexican lady try to corral those four kids she has. I got a feeling she's going to Des Moines. And...load them up. Pass the TSA, hand the ticket get in, find a seat in the dark dark back and go to sleep. Right. The Mexican lady is eyeing the seat across the aisle. I guess i don't look like a drug smuggler. She trusted me with blessing the aisle seat with two kids a-piece. From Omaha to Des Moines I was kicked, wiggled,jostled and had my left eardrum pierced by red-hot chili bean screams. The nice old man sleeping by the window must have seemed safe. Uh...remember the part about the Money Guns and Lawyers. Sure....I love kids, lady. Especially well done with a side of spaghetti. Now I am not only stiff and sore from getting poked and prodded by the uncomfortable bus seats (designed to be impossible to get comfortable in), frozen alive by the constantly blowing A/C on my arm (which shoots out of the window frame which is the only place you can rest your arm) but, now I am covered in size four shoe bruises. Thanks, God. I know...I'm a doper...I should be punished. Next time, just have them find the stash, eh? Does he listen? Oh hell no! I finally get in to Des Moines and the wife over-shot the bus station by a mile or two and had to double back to find this obscure Corn Town version of a bus depot. When I finally jump in the car she tells me she has a little present for me when I get home. It seems that while the daughter was visiting while I was away, they managed to use every plate, knife fork and spoon and glass in the house. A week's worth of dirty dishes were stacked up the sink, on the table, in the living room...OMG! The only thing missing from that mountain of dishes was the Marines hoisting the flag. Maybe I can get back to the bus station to find my old seat. Maybe she won't miss one of those little brats. Probably be thankful I went and ate one. But, I'm sure eating Mexican kids will only give me indigestion and gas.