The Soul Bus

There was a look of terror on their faces.  Shock, which soon moved to disgust and disdain.  Almost in unison the passengers looked away from the old man, as though if they couldn’t see him, he wouldn’t exist.  Those nearby shuffled slightly, as far as they could manage to get away on a crowded morning bus.

But they could hear him.  I could hear him.  I followed the soulful tones drifting through the bus, back to their source.  An old man, clearly fallen on hard times.  He resembled a homeless Morgan Freeman.  Wise, interesting, comforting.  He looked like someone who had discovered the truth of life, and was content with it.

I smiled at him, and he winked, a big broad grin breaking on his face as he sang.

‘Don’t worry, be happy…..doo du doo do du du du’

He took a swig out of his beer can.  ‘Hey, you girl.’  He said, his accent dripping in Caribbean charm.

‘Hey, you girl, do they teach you this song at school?’

The young girl, resplendent in her school uniform, looked at the old man.  She froze, unable to speak.

‘They probably don’t.  But they should you know.  Listen to the words, and never forget them.’

Off he started again, singing his soulful lesson to the world.

‘Here’s a little song I wrote

You might want to sing it note for note

Don’t worry, be happy

In every life we have some trouble

But when you worry you make it double

Don’t worry, be happy

Don’t worry, be happy now’


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