The Emperor of Ethiopia

The little ancient ebony man runs up three long stairways from the Red Line train station to the Wilshire Western bus stop. He is dressed in an exotic set of leather clothes (Where does it  get those things!). Black leather pillbox cap festooned with jewels and gold filigree. Circles  within circles of silver and bronze thread dress the top of his hat - like some miniature heliport.

 His jacket harkens back to the Davey Crockett style my mother never let me have. Brown and black leather, thin leather fingers fringe the arms and run down the sides.  The back and front of the jacket are overly decorated with native appliqués and tokens. His jeans are trim but a bit 'high-water'. He wears sensible brown shoes - too big for his body.

He jogs for the bus as if he might have been a sprinter or one of those long distance runners back in the day. Back in Algeria. . .Sudan. . .Chad - places like that. You wouldn't necessarily know what he's about to look at him. But, once he gets himself on the bus, he becomes the Great Lion, The Devilish Dervish, The Emperor of Ethiopia.

First of all, he won't stand. Refuses to stand under any and all circumstances. He plays the age card, and plays it well. Saw him once instruct a Latino gentleman to get up from a front-of-bus seat. The Latino kept shaking his head side to side. The Emperor kept the heat on, insisting that he remove himself. The Latino keep up the shaking.  Emperor, Latino; Emperor Latino. Then suddenly, a Latina lady stood up and beckoned the Emperor to take her seat. The Latino would have none of that. The Latino also stood up and beckoned the Latina to sit back in her seat. Meanwhile, The Emperor quietly slipped into the seat vacated by the other guy. I'm sure the Hispanic gentleman said a few 'madre de Dios' as he made his way to the rear of the bus.

Once he gets his seat, our boy starts the yakking. His well etched and oily sable face starts chatting to the bus at large (not at all a unique occurrence on Los Angeles public transit.) Within short order, his dialog gets inflamed and he's rousting all those in ear-shot. From a short distance, he looks pretty convincing: black head bobbing, hands like Punch and Judy puppets, spine pushed forward off his perch. 

Yesterday, God bless him, he took out a set of snapshots and started critiquing them for the nearest passenger. Using a wiry finger, he poked at one shot of a entrance to what appeared to be a men's public bathroom. He flipped through a few more - seemingly very proud of his craftsmanship. Yakking, yakking, and more yakking. 

Well, I know where he gets on the bus, but, where does he get off? Who is he? Where does he go when he reaches his destination?  One day I expect he'll get into some fight with someone who won't put up with the dude. Or, he'll get tossed off the bus into the waiting arms of the LAPD. That could be worse.

But for now, The Emperor of Ethiopia is my biggest transit mystery and I thoroughly enjoy watching his act.