Fritz and Zooey could her a raspy cough from the back ailes of the bus where a decrepit homeless man had been sleeping. As the bus lurched over a few bumps, the old man straightened himself and brushed the front of his jacket off with two mittened hands. He made his way down the center aisles and stopped two rows behind Fritz and Zooey before sitting down again.

“I’m Haroooollllld,” he slurred, wiping his nose with the sleeve of a tattered millitary jacket he wore.

“Hi Harold,” Zooey said with a laugh.

“You know whaaaaat,” Harold started, “I’m goinnnng to the zoooo.”

“I bet you are…” muttered Fritz.

“Shut up,” Zooey said as she punched Fritz in the arm, “This guy is awesome.”

“Oh yeah?” Zooey said to Harold. Fritz decided to join in on Zooey’s fun and he turned to face him.

Harold leaned on the seat in front of him, “You bet I am…”

“Whoops,” he hiccuped, “This is my stop…” Harold got up and made his way to the front.

“Hey Harold,” Fritz shouted, “What year is it?”

“1973.”