Bus Report #513

Lately, my commutes have been nothing special, which I guess is good, but nothing to write home about equates nothing to Bus Report about, which is sad.

This morning I caught an early 38, sat across from the annoying construction worker who can't seem to close his mouth. He was half asleep, and I could see his tonsils.
At Fillmore, I got out and waved to the driver as I walked down the block.
She flashed me a lovely smile.
There's a new man who takes the 22 with me in the mornings these days. He is probably around my age (early 30s) or maybe a bit older. He stands at the very edge of the sidewalk, holding a paper back book in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

The bench in the bus stop was covered in various pieces of women's clothes. A lacy blue camisole, a peach sweater, some old faded blue jeans and a couple of soiled T-shirts. Two pairs of vintage-looking shoes completed the pile. I liked the red ones, but not enough to touch them.

The bus came, and the driver opened the door right in front of me.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," I replied.
The only free seat was next to the Austin coffee mug girl. I sat beside her and spaced out, staring at the back of a very large man.
We rolled down Fillmore, then Church, then 16th, until we reached my stop.
The men standing in the stair well didn't want to move to let us out, but the large man managed to push his way past them, and the rest of us did the same.