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On the Bus

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There are going to be times when we can’t wait for somebody. Now, you’re either on the bus or off the bus. If you’re on the bus, and you get left behind, then you’ll find it again. If you’re off the bus in the first place — then it won’t make a damn.

—Ken Kesey

I am on the bus. It is Thursday morning and I am on the bus to Troy. I am talking to someone about Trojan Horses and Nonviolent Piñatas. All the pie is gone.


The day before I got on the bus, I baked the last two sour cherry pies of the year. I only made five this year as compared to the twenty-or-so pies I usually bake each July. I hadn’t expected to find any cherries by the time I had returned from my travels, so each pie was a gift to me —and the friends that gathered around each pie are the real reason for the pie.


Wednesday night, Kanishka and Juli drove the pie bus. The door bell kept ringing and people kept getting on the bus but like some reverse clown car. Miraculously, there was plenty of room for more. Offerings of beef jerky and pork jerky, and pig candy arrived with the Pranksters …and, um, ice cream …and um, bubbles. Lots of bubbles. Pies like bubbles. Amanda, Whitney, Yoann, Dushko, Magda, Kate, Adam, Richard, Wolfgang, Kelly, Michele, Christian, Raphaele and Mike were on the bus. We ate all the pie. All of it.


If you’re on the bus, and you get left behind, then you’ll find it again.

Written by etinnyo

July 23, 2015 at 8:24 am

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

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