Bus Report #628
I waited for the bus tonight, after meeting up with D. to write in a cafe way out on Geary.
I didn't get enough work done, but that's okay. I'll take what I can get this week.
At the bus stop there was a boy with a guitar. He played a song and sang, too. He wasn't bad.
He had curly dark hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt. The typical San Francisco summer visitor.
He wasn't the only person at the bus stop with a guitar: Standing a few feet away was a twenty-something man with a mohawk, his hands shoved into his pockets, and a guitar in a soft case, strapped to his back.
When the curly-haired boy finished his song, the mohawk guy said, "That was pretty good, man," and they shook hands.
"You going to a gig?" the boy asked him.
"Nah. Actually going to record, lay down some tracks."
"Cool," said the boy. "I'm going to an open mike? Down at Ireland's?"
The bus pulled up and I waited for them to get in.
They were still talking about playing, so they told me I should get in ahead of them.
The driver leaned out the bus and said, "You guys want to get in, already, talk inside?"
They ended up sitting near me, talking about the open mikes around town.
The boy was in town just for the summer: staying with an uncle in the Outer Richmond, but flying home next week. "My Ma will meet me at the airport," he told the man with the mohawk.
I got out at my stop and walked home.
I didn't get enough work done, but that's okay. I'll take what I can get this week.
At the bus stop there was a boy with a guitar. He played a song and sang, too. He wasn't bad.
He had curly dark hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt. The typical San Francisco summer visitor.
He wasn't the only person at the bus stop with a guitar: Standing a few feet away was a twenty-something man with a mohawk, his hands shoved into his pockets, and a guitar in a soft case, strapped to his back.
When the curly-haired boy finished his song, the mohawk guy said, "That was pretty good, man," and they shook hands.
"You going to a gig?" the boy asked him.
"Nah. Actually going to record, lay down some tracks."
"Cool," said the boy. "I'm going to an open mike? Down at Ireland's?"
The bus pulled up and I waited for them to get in.
They were still talking about playing, so they told me I should get in ahead of them.
The driver leaned out the bus and said, "You guys want to get in, already, talk inside?"
They ended up sitting near me, talking about the open mikes around town.
The boy was in town just for the summer: staying with an uncle in the Outer Richmond, but flying home next week. "My Ma will meet me at the airport," he told the man with the mohawk.
I got out at my stop and walked home.
posted by Rachel at 11:59 PM
2 Comments:
i like this blog. . . very cool idea. I used to love riding the buses in the city when I lived/worked there--might be working there again soon, and start doing something similar to what you're doing here. Used to live in the Richmond, and played an open mic (and gigs) at Bazaar Cafe on California and 22nd often. Thanks for doing this--going to go back and read some of your older posts when I have time. . .
Thanks, lickthefridge! Bazaar Cafe is really cute, I should hang out there more often. Take care!
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