Public Transport and Other Extreme Sports

Marvin McCrackle reached the bus stop breathing like a man who had just escaped a low-budget action movie. His sock squelched ominously with every step, a damp reminder of the chicken incident—an event his brain had already filed under We Will Never Speak of This Again.

The bus arrived late, which Marvin considered optimistic behavior given how the morning was going.

He climbed aboard and was immediately greeted by the unmistakable smell of wet coats, questionable life choices, and one man aggressively eating boiled eggs. Marvin paid his fare, nodded politely to the driver, and turned—only to discover there were no seats left. Not a single one.

The bus lurched forward before Marvin could brace himself. He grabbed the nearest pole, which was already occupied by three hands, one elbow, and a woman who looked like she’d bite if startled.

“It’s fine,” Marvin whispered to himself. “Just ten minutes. Nothing else can go wrong.”

The universe heard this and took notes.

At the next stop, the bus filled even more. Marvin was pressed between a teenager loudly watching videos without headphones and an elderly man who smelled aggressively of peppermint and judgment.

Then Marvin felt it.

A tug.

His pocket.

He froze.

Slowly, carefully, Marvin looked down to see a familiar furry hand attempting to escape with his phone.

The monkey.

“You,” Marvin hissed.

The monkey met his gaze, grinned, and chattered softly, as if saying, Fancy meeting you here.

Before Marvin could react, the bus hit a speed bump. Marvin stumbled. The monkey launched itself onto the overhead rail, swung dramatically like an action hero, and landed on the egg-eating man’s head.

Chaos erupted.

The man screamed. Eggs rolled. Someone dropped a coffee. The driver shouted words Marvin suspected were not approved for public transport.

“Is that a MONKEY?” someone yelled.

“No, no, no,” Marvin said, waving his hands. “It’s not with me.”

The monkey screeched indignantly and flung Marvin’s phone across the bus. It bounced off a window, hit the floor, and slid to the driver’s feet.

The driver slammed the brakes.

The bus stopped abruptly. People collided. Marvin fell into a stroller. The stroller’s occupant laughed hysterically.

“That’s it!” the driver shouted. “Everyone off! Monkey included!”

The doors opened. The monkey bolted.

Without thinking—because thinking had abandoned him at breakfast—Marvin ran after it.

They burst onto the sidewalk. The monkey zigzagged through pedestrians with Olympic-level agility. Marvin followed, flailing and apologizing to strangers as he went.

“Sorry! Sorry! Monkey emergency!”

The monkey darted into a café.

Marvin skidded to a halt, stared at the café sign, and groaned.

The Daily Peck.

A chicken-themed café.

“Of course,” Marvin muttered, pushing the door open.

Inside, chaos was already in progress.

The monkey had climbed onto the counter and was enthusiastically sampling unattended pastries. A staff member stood frozen, holding a tray of chicken-shaped macarons. Every customer stared.

“That’s him,” Marvin said breathlessly, pointing. “He stole my life.”

The monkey locked eyes with Marvin, cheeks bulging with croissant. Slowly, mockingly, it reached into its mouth and pulled out Marvin’s wallet.

Then it threw it.

Directly into a woman’s latte.

The woman screamed. The monkey leapt onto a decorative chicken statue, used it as a springboard, and launched itself out an open window.

Silence.

All eyes turned to Marvin.

“I don’t work here,” Marvin said weakly.

Security arrived. Marvin was escorted out while holding his damp wallet and what appeared to be a complimentary napkin of shame.

Outside, his phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

He answered it.