Bus Report #712
"That's too bad," I said. "Unless it's a better schedule for you."
"Not better," she said, "Just earlier."
"Well, good luck!" I said, and went to sit down.
The eighties got on at the next stop. Today she wore a jacket with shoulder pads, one of her high-waisted skirts, and thick black tights with her Reeboks.
The teens who get on in front of the Fillmore Cafe chatted with the driver for a minute and went to sit in the back of the bus like they always do.
A quiet man, who usually rides the bus with his extremely adorable little daughter, got on by himself and sat down in front of me. He always smells so good - like Ethiopian Berbere spices - and today was no exception. I took a few deep breaths and vowed to dig out the recipes from the Ethiopian cooking class I took at City College.
A few stops later I got a seat mate. He began reading the September issue of The Believer. I tried to read a couple of the articles but his arm was in the way.