Bus Report #212
Finally, the bus came. It turned in to a train and the destination sign said "De Haro Street to 6th Street & Dash-- Grownups only"
It was a grownups only train! The kids started protesting and rioting, and the driver started to close the doors.
"Wait, Wait, I'm a grownup!" I said, struggling though the door with all my stuff. I paid my fare and sat down on the clean, quiet, childless bus/train.
Weird dream, indeed.
This morning I was on the 38 Geary. At the 9th Avenue stop I saw a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye, a particular shade of blue: The color of the Alien Donut Man's jacket.
He got on the bus, walking slowly. Both his feet were encased in blue hospital socks and those Velcro medical slippers (for when you break your foot or something). He caught my eye, nodded, and sat down RIGHT ACROSS FROM ME.
I did not know what to do, at all. I acknowledged that he was sitting a foot away from me, he acknowledged that he was sitting a foot away from me, then I did my best not to stare at him.
The way he moves his head is like a baby bird, and he occasionally opened and closed his mouth like a fish. At one point, he tried to stand up but his legs were too wobbly so he sat back down.
I felt a surge of concern for him. I pictured lending him my shoulder as support as he got out of the bus.
Instead I got out of the bus first.
As I was walking to work I passed Emiliano. He was outside of a disgusting coffee chain store drinking coffee and leaning on his bicycle. Green flannel shirt and red Team Zissou hat present and accounted for.