Bus Report #567
The bus filled up at Mission Street.
A couple of guys from the halfway house stood in front of me. I tried to decipher the knuckle tattoos on the guy standing closest. He always strikes up little conversations with the people around him and last night was no different. He smiled at me and said, "I like your pin. Is it a family heirloom?"
I shook my head. Felt my face get prickly hot. I was probably blushing. "Nah," I said. "It's from a consignment shop."
"Just some shiny piece, huh?" he said.
"Very shiny," I agreed.
He turned his attention to the grumpy woman who works at Arch. She was playing with her smart phone. He watched her move things around on the screen with her gloved finger.
My seat mate got out at Church and Market and from the back of the bus a tall fellow with thick dark hair in a braid, a bright red tote bag and a camel-colored fuzzy jacket slid in to the seat next to me.
He had pretty brown eyes, his best feature: his face was scarred beyond belief, scarred more than any face I've ever seen before.
We watched a cluster of passengers bang on the rear door until the driver eventually opened it. I shook my head. My seat mate said, "Is it always like this?"
"It's been crazier than usual lately," I said. "I usually catch an earlier bus, I think." I grinned at him. "I'd recommend that, actually. But the people watching's good."
He laughed, told me he was getting used to Muni, that he used to work in Redwood City and took his car or Cal Train to work.
"I can handle Muni if I've got the time," he said. "I gave myself over an hour tonight to get out to La Playa, but now I think I'll be late."
"How are you getting out there?" I asked him.
"Thought I'd take the N," he said.
"Probably your best bet," I told him.
He got out at the next stop.
"Good night," I said. "Hope you get where you're going on time."
"Me, too," he said.