Bus Report #525
Last night, after a lovely reunion with the rest of Write Club SF, I waited on Lombard for the 28. I love taking the 28 at night. It's so quiet, and I love looking at the lights in the Presidio and Crissy Field, love smelling the eucalyptus in the park, and love seeing the Golden Gate Bridge shrouded in fog and darkness.
Also waiting in the bus stop were a couple of men in deep conversation (one of them with a didgeridoo (sp?) and the other, a drunk rambling man who kept giving the other guy his myspace address), a quiet man just hanging out in the shadows, and a woman who kept walking by, doubling back, standing next to me then walking by again.
When the bus came, I was surprised that I was the only person getting in.
I took a seat by the back door and cracked open the window.
There was a family sitting in front of me: mom, dad and teenage daughter. Dad had a map and the three of them kept looking at the map, then looking up, shrugging.
They were speaking Spanish and I decided that if they needed help, I was their girl.
We were almost at my stop when the dad caught my eye. He looked like he wanted to say something, so I asked him in Spanish if he needed help.
He did.
They wanted Clement Street. Easy enough. "Just get out at Geary," I told him. "It's one block back, but probably safer to walk down Geary and cut over, instead of walking through Park Presidio."
The family thanked me and we went our separate ways. I hope they got where they were going.
Also waiting in the bus stop were a couple of men in deep conversation (one of them with a didgeridoo (sp?) and the other, a drunk rambling man who kept giving the other guy his myspace address), a quiet man just hanging out in the shadows, and a woman who kept walking by, doubling back, standing next to me then walking by again.
When the bus came, I was surprised that I was the only person getting in.
I took a seat by the back door and cracked open the window.
There was a family sitting in front of me: mom, dad and teenage daughter. Dad had a map and the three of them kept looking at the map, then looking up, shrugging.
They were speaking Spanish and I decided that if they needed help, I was their girl.
We were almost at my stop when the dad caught my eye. He looked like he wanted to say something, so I asked him in Spanish if he needed help.
He did.
They wanted Clement Street. Easy enough. "Just get out at Geary," I told him. "It's one block back, but probably safer to walk down Geary and cut over, instead of walking through Park Presidio."
The family thanked me and we went our separate ways. I hope they got where they were going.
posted by Rachel at 9:33 AM
3 Comments:
the 28 is awesome. They cut it up a little but any line that ends at the Bridge ain't that bad.
You're right, Greg! The bridge at night is awesome and scary (well, the bridge parking lot, at least!)
We call those horrible, dirty hippy instruments of lame stonerness "didgeridon'ts". As in "please don't play that".
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