Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Bus Report #464

Silent and dark morning on Muni.
A woman at the bus stop, another regular, said, "I hate how dark it is these days."
I nodded, replied, "well, I bet we change the clocks soon, right?"
"Yes, I checked online," she told me. "We change them November 1."
The bus was crowded but I squeezed between a woman I barely noticed and a tall man playing with his phone and an igadget.
The man sitting across from me looked like a Homicide: Life on the Streets-era Kyle Secor, except for his white earbuds and his PDA. I spent a few moments thinking about this television favorite of mine, before pulling the signal cord and getting out at Fillmore.
There were three of us waiting for the bus and one man sleeping on the bench, an open sleeping bag tucked around his head and shoulders. Our bus came and we got in, and the bus rolled on, still quiet, still mostly empty.
At Church and Market a pair of fare inspectors got on. "Morning, folks," said the woman inspector, smiling. "Let's see your tickets."
I fumbled around in my bag for my Fast Pass, and flipped it in their direction.
We all had passes and transfers, so no one got fined. It was odd, but at that moment I had a feeling of pride, a feeling of "we're all in this together and we won". Everyone had paid their way, and these inspectors knew that. I don't know.
The feeling passed.
16th Street was quiet and for the most part still asleep.
The fare inspectors got out at Mission and 16th, after making sure everyone had a transfer or Fast Pass.
At my stop, my seatmate was nice enough to get up to let me out. I hopped out of the bus and walked the rest of the way to work.
Lots of broken glass on the sidewalk, and further on, under the freeway, some abandoned canvases amidst the used coffee cups and orphaned shoes.
One of the paintings was of a Picasso-esque woman sitting on the edge of a chair, patches of color behind her. She had dark hair and her legs were crossed. I stopped and looked at it for a minute. It was tossed behind the fence so I couldn't rescue it, but I would have liked to.


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