The Magic Bus

The same story. The same play, Life, A Tragedy. In two acts for some, ACT l: BEFORE, ACT ll: AFTER. In one act for others, ACT l: SAME OLE SHIT.

Modern tales of woe, of people leading quiet lives of desperation, searching for miracles, believing in miracles, waiting for miracles, waiting for divine intervention that never happens. Waiting, waiting...Waiting for Godot, who appears to be on sabbatical.

And here they were, on the flatlands of Beverly Hills waiting in line for a bus. The battered, the tattered, the shattered. The bruised, the used, the abused. So many, too many, tough luck. Stoics, enduring because______. Standing in line to board a bus on Pico Boulevard, with their blankets, their pillows, their plastic bags of crappy kosher candy and cookies, with their carry-ons stuffed with undergarments, clutching their religious trinkets and articles for dear life. Holy-rollers in times of need.

Who still need objects to kiss.

Wear a red string bracelet for protection.

Still hooked on golden calves.

And despite it all, despite it all, despite all the indignities of life rained down upon them -- big and small, real and imagined, despite it all, the pilgrims brimmed with abundant hope. They don't know it, but Godot has checked out of town. They need not wait. Rise up, rise up, awaken the Godots from within.

Resisters, rebels, righteous warriors metamorphosed into dung beetles. Feel their pain, share it, ignore it, but it will always be there until The Grieving Husband's last campaign: Death spells relief.

The Beverly Hills Pilgrims, now that's a show.

And out from the sky came a-rumblin' from God,
The Lord that is, King of Kings, The Al-migh-ty.

The Beverly Hills Pilgrims, About to embark on a journey, to canterbury-tale it to New York, the real holy land, to ride a bus 2700 miles across the country because. To visit, to pray, to weep at the tomb of the great tzadik, the great saint, The Rebbe. Their savior, dead but alive in spirit, their conduit to God who's sitting comfortably on his throne in heaven, but
dithering dithering on his next move. How did it all get so out-of-control? And they want his ear? Take a number wait in line, Yom Kippur is right around the corner.

So that's the scene. Itzie Weinbaum, who has Madonna on speed-dial and davens with Kirk Douglas, can make anything happen. The Captain Kirk of this bus, to go where many have gone before, to explore unseen worlds, to save needy souls, that is this eight day mission to visit hte tomb of the rebbe. Get it?

While Harry and Gomez parked their car in an alley, hid it behind a dumpster and fled on foot. Where to? No fucking idea. And then they saw the magic bus, with Itzie in charge.

"That's Rabbi Itzie!" Gomez said to Harry. "I've been to a few of his events, I know him. He can help. Follow me."

Gomez made a beeline to the rabbi and embraced him. Real life salvation.

"Mr. Gomez, what brings you here?" Rabbi Itzie asked. He felt Gomez shivering, inhaled his cologned sweat. "You're in trouble, nu?"

"No time to explain now, Itzie, but we have to get on that bus and disappear for a while."

"Get in now, Gomez. I have a couple of empty seats."

Gomez hugged Itzie and hopped on the bus with Harry in tow. This bus was going somewhere with Godot behind the wheel.