The subject line is a true story. Last night, on the 6:30pm 54 Lower, I sat behind a Satanist. He smelled. Not because he was a Satanist but because he was a bicyclist.
Other than that, he was a nice guy and he wished me a Merry Christmas. He did so because he hit me on the head with his bike's spare tire as he was getting off the bus. He apologized profusely and I said, "No, it's my fault." And it was because I was sitting on the outer edge of the seat rather than near the window so when he whacked me, it was because he couldn't avoid me. But anyway, he said, "Merry Christmas," as he exited the bus.
I would not have remembered that interesting anecdote except for the fact that I just finished reading
Holidays on Ice: Stories by David Sedaris.
( Santa is an anagram for Satan )