Bus Report #131

Slept restlessly last night, so I was up early and out of the house before the end of the California Report on KQED.

At the bus stop, I said "hi" to the fleece jacket man.
The woman with the horrible, yappy dogs in sweaters walked by with the little demons. Fleece jacket man and I exchanged glances. I rolled my eyes at the dogs.
He said, "Those dogs are awful."
I said, "I hate those dogs. And I see them everywhere."
He nodded. "Small dogs are always loud like that."
"No, I mean, I see THOSE SPECIFIC DOGS everywhere. At least once a day," I said.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

At Fillmore I caught the 22. Carmen was saving me a seat: she had her backpack on the seat next to her and did not make a move to pick it up until I slid into the seat.

I was lost in headphones oblivion when we pulled into the stop at 16th and Harrison. A man in a suit was standing next to the self-storage place, his briefcase balanced on his knee. He was viciously digging his finger into his nose. It was disgusting.
He saw the bus, grabbed the briefcase and ran to get on through the back doors. He stood in the step well and immediately started picking his nose again. Everyone stared at him, but that did not deter him one bit. If he had been able to get his whole hand in there, he would have.
When I got out at the next stop, I made sure not to touch the doors or bars near where he was standing.