A pudgy bearded man with dirty arms and pants sits down beside me late one night, waiting for a train.      “History is bunk!” he says, straight ahead. He sits and fidgets – “I’ll miss my goddamn bus!” – teeters up and walks away with small and tottered steps.      I sit alone late at night, waiting for a train. “Some history might be true,” I whisper, straight ahead. <END>      If you liked this post, please tell your friends and share a comment here or in StumbleUpon, … [Read more...]