Bus Report #582

Crowded 2 Clement bus tonight, and no one seemed inclined to move to the back of the bus.
"Excuse me, excuse me," I said, working my way back to what looked to be a free seat near the back door. No one even tried to move, so what could I do? I pushed. I elbowed. I said to the man sitting in the aisle seat, "mind if I sit?"
He stared at me blankly and moved a quarter of an inch, so that I had to climb over him to get into the seat. He got out at the next stop.
The bus emptied out when we hit Japantown.
Someone in front of me was reading a book I was recently told was horrible.
In the back of the bus, two overly made-up ladies talked about how much fun their shopping trip had been earlier that day. They both wore jeans and sweatshirts but had way too much makeup on - as though they'd gotten makeovers or something. Maybe they had.
My new seatmate pecked away at her phone. She almost missed her stop. The man standing next to her almost hit her in the head with his backpack.
The bank clock on California near Spruce flashed the time, 6:30 PM, and the temperature, 50 degrees Fahrenheit. I wondered if we would really get any snow this weekend. I wouldn't mind.
Clement Street was busy: cars looking for parking, lines out front Burma Star, the smell of fried snacks wafting out of Genki Crepes. I hopped out at Eighth and crossed the street to go to the library.
On my way home I passed the donut shop. The Alien Donut Man sat at his usual spot with his two plain donuts and his cup of coffee. I stole a glance at him, my usual not so subtle goggle-eyed stare.
He saw me and slowly nodded his head, raised his hand in a delicate wave.
I waved back and looked away.