Manfrog

I'm not wanting to be mean (actually, let's face it, I probably am), but there is a man on my morning bus that I suspect is part bullfrog. Everything about him screams bullfrog. He looks like one. Sounds like one. If he sits close you even catch the occasional whiff of one.

He eats his breakfast on the bus, very loudly, with a big open bullfrog mouth, making big smacking noises. Smack! Smack! Smack!! He does not chew, but rather throws up his big bullfrog head and swallows each mouthful whole. After each mouthful, he takes a big guzzle of coffee, letting it spill from the corners of his mouth, and make a steaming trail down his cold, green, translucent skin.

When he is sated, he slumps against the window, to sleep for the rest of the journey. Before long, a snore starts to emanate from the bowels of his bullfrog stomach. Not a dry, snorting snore, but a wet, gurgly one.

I watch intently as his skin rests against the glass window. He does not leave the usual ugly grease smear common to bus windows, but rather he creates precipitation. Water forms, quickly and abundantly, where his skin touches the glass; hinting at the secret truth of his amphibious origins.

He awakens with a croak, pulling his bulk upright, ready to alight. As he hops off the bus, I am left to stare, fascinated at the water he has left on the window. It pools into tiny droplets, and gathering weight, trickles down the glass and onto the seat. Manfrog has marked his territory for the day.