He’s a black man in his late 30s, six feet four, 280 or more, wearing a gray and red Columbia Sportswear jacket and an Oakland Raiders watch cap, with hoop earrings.
He carries on a loud conversation with the bus driver about where to get a good steak.
He whistles the Ray Charles song, “You Don’t Know Me,” beautifully but sporadically, as if it’s playing in his head and sometimes burbles out.
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