Bus Report #623

Last Thursday, late, coming home on the 38 Geary.
I'd spent most of the ride listening to music and hadn't paid much attention to the other passengers.
The usual late night mix of drunk kids, folks on their way home from work and tourists unsure of where they were going. I thought I saw the handsome South Asian chef's boyfriend, but not the handsome South Asian chef himself.
The lights on the bus were bright and irritated my eyes. I didn't feel like I needed to put on my sunglasses. That seemed like overkill.
The bus approached my stop so I pulled the signaller and went to the door. I turned my head to the left and saw a familiar face framed in white-blond hair.
The Alien Donut Man was sitting two seats away from me. As always he sat rigidly upright, his hands on his knees, his blue parka zipped up to his neck, and his feet tucked in to their velcro orthopedic shoes.
Where was he going, I wondered? The donut shop was a few stops back. As always, I wanted to swaddle him in soft blankets, or bubble wrap. I wanted to give him money for his donuts and coffee.
Instead, I got out of the bus and walked down the street towards home.