Personal Narrative: Thanksgiving

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The bus was crowded that morning. Thanksgiving was just a few days away, and it seemed as though the whole world was coming or going, planning and preparing. I took the first available seat I could find, an aisle seat, four rows back behind the driver. Slouching down, I watched the rest of the passengers jostle to find their places. I really wasn’t up for this trip. Yes, it was Thanksgiving and I was on my way to see my family and friends, but my heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t looking forward to twenty-two hours on a bus back to New York, back to a place I had left more out of boredom and rebelliousness than anything else. I would have been happier staying here in town for Thanksgiving, going out to eat, maybe going out to hear some music. Yeah, I might get a little bit homesick at holiday time, but it was more a longing for the past—out of fear for the future I suppose. Homesick wasn’t bad. It was the stuff songs were made of, the stuff blues players belted out, the nourishment of the starving artist. “You got to suffer if you want to sing the blues,” Bromberg had sung. I was good at it. “Hi.”…show more content…
“Who would put their kid in a pair of those,” I wondered. They were like 50’s old lady glasses. She wouldn’t have looked more ridiculous if she had a squirrel perched on her

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