London night bus, as I said before, is a great entertainment for very small money. This time around it was long and truly artistic (in a simple, very down-to-earth way) monologue of Jamaican immigrant. I was sitting at the front seat of upper deck and he was sitting behind me, I never turned to look at his face, but listened with great attention.

He was telling about simple real life situations, about values, fate, life in the society, 'being my [own] boss'. I want to be my boss, he said. Plumbing and carpenting are good jobs, but the boss - the boss isn't honest.
It was all quite delightful, combined with his Jamaican pronunciation, so simple and powerful. When he left the bus at Olympia, his listeners (one of them was really hot female immigrant) started to discuss him, with some condemnation combined with thoroughly hidden admiration and respect, giggling like schoolchildren. I personally found this inappropriate. He was such an urban saint, how could they...

But they were just people, bloody immigrants, like myself, riding on the second deck of London doubledecker. Where if you ever hear English speech, it's either African or Jamaican dialects of pigeon English.

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