"Please, baby, stop screaming," I mutter through clenched teeth. The red little creature is flailing its arms wildly. Gabby begins to look annoyed by the sound, and I notice someone else get up and move across the aisle to escape it.
"Maybe its diaper needs to be changed," Gabby suggests. I sigh. There are no diapers around. Where do you get a diaper on a bus in the middle of the countryside? I look down at my thin cloak, and with a loud exhale rip it off my shoulders and into wide strips, then begin to walk with the baby into the bathroom.
When the disgusting operation is over, I rinse the original diaper out in the sink and hang it up over the mirror. Too bad if someone is grossed out. I also found a note pinned to the inside of the swaddling cloth: Call him Julian, it says. Fine. NOT that I plan on keeping this thing for particularly long.
The baby--Julian--is almost quiet as I make my way back to Gabby. "Here," I say. "He's quiet. Now what do I do with him?"
Gabby sighs and shakes her head. "Whatever you want. This baby isn't YOUR problem. You just got stuck with it."
Rolling my eyes, I raise him over my head and yell, "Would anyone like a free baby?"
Everyone stares at me, but they all say nothing.