Bus Report #384

This morning I took the 38 down to Fillmore with Rudy, that guy I met at the Julieta Venegas show, and the older gentleman with the cozy sweaters who takes the 22 in the opposite direction.
We all three of us got out of the 38 through the back door and then walked almost in a three-across line to our respective bus stops.
At the bus stop, I listened to some music, tapped my foot to the beat.
The 22 came. I stood back so Rudy could get in first, but he motioned for me to get in first. I thanked him.
It was a quiet ride, not many of the regulars, just the annoying day laborer guy, the annoying sewing lady, the new recovering addict guys and the guy who always wears earplugs.
A mom and her baby had matching jackets.
I got out at a different stop this morning, with a ton of middle-schoolers who were heading up the hill to their school.
Potrero Hill felt cold this morning, and foggy, and the brewery smelled like fresh beer.
Ah, delicious Anchor Steam. I love you.