Bus Report #618
Last night on the 22 I sat next to a slightly twitchy man who kept leaning forward to look out the window, then leaning back and sighing.
I knew him.
Rather, we'd met before, briefly, one night a couple years ago when he was out at a local bar with a friend of his. They were both drunk and very friendly, and P. and I hung out with them a little. I can't remember either of their names but he had a memorable face: very angular jaw, sideburns that didn't look stupid, and dark, dark eyes, so brown or blue they were almost black.
I got out at Geary and waited for the 38 huddled in the bus shelter with a half-dozen other chilly commuters. The bus came and we got on.
Another familiar face on this bus, too, L. who I took a class with a few years ago. He used to give me rides home from our foggy and cold Fort Mason campus. He'd pull up to me as I waited in the bus stop and he'd fling open the passenger side door of his little, beat up standard death trap. "Get in!" he'd say, barely stopping the car for me to jump in.
I know we got some weird looks from other folks waiting for the bus, but a ride's a ride and I never said no.
I hadn't seen him in a long time. Is it possible for adults to get taller, noticeably taller, like almost a foot taller? Because he looked as though he'd grown, and towered over me more than I remembered. His hair was wild from the wind, a little thinner and longer than I remembered. He had two grocery bags on the floor between his feet. He seemed lost in thought and did not notice me.
I worked my way to the back of the bus, wondering why it was so empty.
I smelled the reason a moment later - the rear of the bus smelled like fresh vomit and old clothes.
There weren't any obvious culprits lurking in the back of the bus, either. One woman kept her hand on front of her face. A young man I recognize from around the neighborhood kept his chin tilted up towards the open window.
I got out at my stop. The smell of fresh baked bread from the bakery nearby hung in the air. I gulped it in, greedily.
I knew him.
Rather, we'd met before, briefly, one night a couple years ago when he was out at a local bar with a friend of his. They were both drunk and very friendly, and P. and I hung out with them a little. I can't remember either of their names but he had a memorable face: very angular jaw, sideburns that didn't look stupid, and dark, dark eyes, so brown or blue they were almost black.
I got out at Geary and waited for the 38 huddled in the bus shelter with a half-dozen other chilly commuters. The bus came and we got on.
Another familiar face on this bus, too, L. who I took a class with a few years ago. He used to give me rides home from our foggy and cold Fort Mason campus. He'd pull up to me as I waited in the bus stop and he'd fling open the passenger side door of his little, beat up standard death trap. "Get in!" he'd say, barely stopping the car for me to jump in.
I know we got some weird looks from other folks waiting for the bus, but a ride's a ride and I never said no.
I hadn't seen him in a long time. Is it possible for adults to get taller, noticeably taller, like almost a foot taller? Because he looked as though he'd grown, and towered over me more than I remembered. His hair was wild from the wind, a little thinner and longer than I remembered. He had two grocery bags on the floor between his feet. He seemed lost in thought and did not notice me.
I worked my way to the back of the bus, wondering why it was so empty.
I smelled the reason a moment later - the rear of the bus smelled like fresh vomit and old clothes.
There weren't any obvious culprits lurking in the back of the bus, either. One woman kept her hand on front of her face. A young man I recognize from around the neighborhood kept his chin tilted up towards the open window.
I got out at my stop. The smell of fresh baked bread from the bakery nearby hung in the air. I gulped it in, greedily.
posted by Rachel at 1:05 PM
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