Bus Report #560
Seen in the Fillmore and Geary 22 bus stop across the street from where I was standing (and I wish I had my camera, if it's still there tomorrow I'll take a photo):
One slender door propped up against the blue glass. The door was painted white on one side and black on the other.
On the sidewalk there was half a table and half a chair painted white in front of the white side of the door, and the other halves of the table and chair painted black in front of the black side of the door.
I stared at this unexpected bus stop installation, wishing I had my camera and time to go look at it.
But I didn't, and my bus rolled up a few minutes later.
I sat in a window seat by myself. The man sitting in front of me is a regular, always reading thick paperback books. He smelled like old cigarettes and like he could use a bath.
Behind me sat another regular, who also smelled not-so-fresh. I opened the window and hoped for the best.
The older nurse, Shirley, her friend, the boy with the limp, the lovebirds, the woman who always has to stand right next to me and the lazy mailman were all there, too.
As we kept going towards Potrero, more regulars got on.
The elderly lady with the cane who uses it close the windows, the too-cool-for-school teen boy with his graffitied skateboard.
The usually humorless woman who gets on at McAllister got on, and she was actually smiling. She had a feathery barrette above her ear. It looked good.
One slender door propped up against the blue glass. The door was painted white on one side and black on the other.
On the sidewalk there was half a table and half a chair painted white in front of the white side of the door, and the other halves of the table and chair painted black in front of the black side of the door.
I stared at this unexpected bus stop installation, wishing I had my camera and time to go look at it.
But I didn't, and my bus rolled up a few minutes later.
I sat in a window seat by myself. The man sitting in front of me is a regular, always reading thick paperback books. He smelled like old cigarettes and like he could use a bath.
Behind me sat another regular, who also smelled not-so-fresh. I opened the window and hoped for the best.
The older nurse, Shirley, her friend, the boy with the limp, the lovebirds, the woman who always has to stand right next to me and the lazy mailman were all there, too.
As we kept going towards Potrero, more regulars got on.
The elderly lady with the cane who uses it close the windows, the too-cool-for-school teen boy with his graffitied skateboard.
The usually humorless woman who gets on at McAllister got on, and she was actually smiling. She had a feathery barrette above her ear. It looked good.
posted by Rachel at 7:50 AM
1 Comments:
I've noticed more stale smelling people in SF than anywhere else. Is there a problem doing laundry in the city as it always smells as though they have slept in their clothes. And, I'm not talking homeless people here, but rather people who otherwise LOOK respectable.
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