Bus Report #595

The 22 Fillmore died at 16th and Church this morning.
"Sorry," said the driver as we all got out of the bus, two dozen annoyed, sleepy commuters who did not need to be where we suddenly found ourselves.
I turned up my music and started walking, figuring that even if we waited for a bus it would be crowded and slow and not the right way to approach a Monday back at the office.
16th Street was quiet, so quiet that for a moment I thought there was something wrong with my hearing. I kept pace with a blond, bearded boy who had been sitting in front of me on the bus. We didn't talk, didn't acknowledge each other, but kept catching up with one another at each street corner when the lights changed.
The knot of passengers thinned out as we walked down 16th. People turned down Guerrero and Valencia, others maneuvered through the scarecrows and overflowing shopping carts in 16th and Mission plaza, heading underground to BART.

I walked past the Victoria Theater: empty marquee, and a bright orange used condom on the sidewalk.

Orchids in the windows at the Poppy Flower Shop.
A length of rusty chain looped around the door to Irma's Pampanga Restaurant. Who would try to break in there? I thought.
Out front the health clinic, a handful of people already waiting to go inside.
I got to Potrero just as a 22 Fillmore bus pulled in to the stop.
I didn't get on, but kept walking the rest of the way to work.