Bus Report #492

Rainy afternoon waiting for the 22 (4 minutes and 8 minutes) or the 10 (39 minutes or 54 minutes).
Three teenage boys stood under the bus shelter next to me.
"Man," said the tallest of the three. "My Dad just got back from the Philippines and the whole house smells like the Philippines! He took a shower, but like, it still smells."
His friends nodded sympathetically.
Another kid grinned and gestured towards a pair of girls who were walking down the hill. "Here comes Angela," he said.
The shortest of the boys slouched down on the bench. "Aw, man," he said.
"You should talk to her, but like, don't let her know you like her," the first boy advised.
The girls came over.
"Hey Steve," Angela said, after her friend elbowed her in her side. "Where you going?"
"Home," he replied.
"Oh, cool. Uh, want to come with us?" she asked.
"Where you going?" Steve asked.
The two girls looked at each other and giggled. smiled. Finally Angela's friend said, "We're going to Safeway."
"What? Why you going to Safeway?" Steve asked.
"To get a drink or something," Angela said. "You sure you don't want to come?"
"Nah, I got to get home," Steve mumbled.
The girls said good bye to the boys and they walked off down the street.

The bus came and I got on. I sat next to a man wearing a wool hat with ear flaps. I liked his hat.
The bus was warm and for the most part dry, and I felt sleepy as the bus rolled down 16th Street.
My seat mate got out at Potrero and A little boy sat beside me, his dad sitting behind us.
Soon the little guy was asleep. He kept leaning out into the aisle. His dad kept tapping his shoulder to wake him up. The kid would nod his head and mumble something, and then fall asleep a moment later.
The woman sitting in front of me talked loudly on her cell phone about her visit to the clinica, about how she had problems with her riñones, how the doctor told her she needed to take some medicine.

I got out at Geary and caught a 38 right away, which was great because I was cold and wet and desperately wanted to get out of my wet boots.
I got out at 6th Ave. to run some errands. Halfway down the block, a homeless man stood almost in the street, yelling at the back of one of San Francisco's finest.
I am a fast walker and soon I caught up to the police officer. "Excuse me," I said. "There's a man back there, yelling."
"I know," said the cop. "He's been yelling at me and following me for 30 minutes, but there's nothing I can do about it. These people are mentally ill, you know?"
Yes, I know.
I nodded. What could I possibly say? Nothing.
"Well, sorry, have a good evening," was all I could manage.