Bus Report #232

In which I tell a good story in a very, very vague manner.

Actually, I think I'll tell it like it's Mad Libs. That should be fun. Here's the reason behind the vagueness: I don't want the person I am writing about to read this and know who I am. It's more fun to stay anonymous.

So. Last _____ night, I was going to meet J. to go to hear The Teacher's Pet's band play at _____. I was going to take the _____ to the _____ and then walk down the hill to meet J., but when I got to the _____ stop, Next Bus said it would be 47 minutes before the, um, next bus.
Screw that, I thought. I unbuttoned my jacket and set off walking down _____ Street.
It was a good walk. I passed a lot of places I haven't been to in a while. There was a show at the _____, but the marquee said it was sold out.
There were a ton of people hanging out at the bar across the street. Most were smoking, clutching beers, or else had their bikes with them and kept a hold of the handlebars. All were wearing tight jeans.
I got to the corner of _____ and _____, my old street. During the walk I had been looking back every now and again to see if I saw a bus, but there were none coming. Instead, there were more unhappy commuters at each successive stop.
This time, when I looked back, I saw The Handsome South Asian Chef.
I waved and started to cross the street, but he was saying something to me so I took off my headphones.
"Hi," I said.
"Hey," He said. We fell into step together and crossed the street.
"It's funny," he went on. "But I see you everywhere, and then I'm like, there's that girl, my bus buddy."
"Yeah," I said. "I see you everywhere too." I was his bus buddy! If only he knew...
We introduced ourselves.
He is indeed a chef. He is also South Asian. I was relieved to have gotten it right, for once.
His name is _______. We shook hands.
He was headed for the bars in the Castro, tossing off names of current and now-defunct bars as we walked. When he talked, his hands fluttered around, punctuating his sentences. His beautiful dark eyes darted from me to where we were walking, and back to me. He pushed his curly black hair out of his face. He asked me if I had been a rider on the _____ back when a kid named Jorge rode on it.
"Nope," I said.
He proceeded to spin a story about a little boy with terrible manners, who's mom never bothered to discipline him. It made me happy to hear that he watched people on the bus as much as I do.
"Actually, I won't be on the bus anymore, probably," he told me. "I just had my last day at my current job."
As you can imagine, I was sad. No more handsome South Asian chef! So sad!
"We'll still run into each other," I said confidently.
We parted ways most of the way to the Castro.
"Have a good night," I said.
"You, too," he said.