Gregarious on the M31.

Usually when you come across someone in the city who's gregarious, he's drunk off his ass.

Or they're someone destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night. 

Ahh, you know what I mean.

In any event an old, gregarious black man dragged himself off the negro streets at dawn this morning and greeted, with enthusiasm, the dour bus-driver.

"How's the bus business?" he fairly shouted, loud enough so I could hear it15 rows back.

Grumble, said the driver.

"Up and down or back and forth?" 

The whole bus laughed. 

Even the driver with Edith Piaf's eyes.