Bus Report #930
There were no other people out and about, not even the man who picks up trash on 10th and Clement. Just me and the bird gangs of the Inner Richmond - the pigeon families, the shrieking crows, the seagulls, so many seagulls, loudly calling to each other as they roamed the intersection of 5th and Clement.
It was a cold, damp morning but the open windows and the open doors of Clement Street were still open. One apartment was dark and quiet, but still had its second floor windows open as wide as possible. Another upper-story apartment had wire hangers of clothes hung from a curtain rod. The shirts and socks swaying just a tiny bit.
The door leading up to the wet suit landing was ajar. I could see a couple of wet suits draped over the wooden bench at the top of the stairs.
On the bus, just a handful of passengers.
As we turned down 18th Street, a sight to make me smile: two pink flamingos planted in a tiny square of dirt out front one of the houses. The flamingos looked very natty: one wore a blue tie, the other, a rope of pears wrapped four times around its neck. Fancy!
Walking to work from the bus, I spied the hot, hot CHP guys just hanging out at Philz having coffees. These guys should be on a calendar, they'd make millions.
I'd never noticed the sliver of empty lot between a non-descript new condo building and the Anchor parking lot, but I smelled it before I saw it this morning. It was weedy but smelled like grass and fennel. Purple flowers climbed one of the containers parked midway between De Haro and Carolina.
On the sidewalk someone had scrawled my brother's name, in chalk. It was very faded but I could still make it out. Someone else wrote in (what looked like) blue-green finger paint: Haz el amor.
Briefly forgotten, sighted yesterday afternoon: The man who sits on the bus spinning wool into yarn had been spinning some lovely grey wool. After a few blocks, as we descended into the Castro, he packed up his project and stepped out of the bus.