Bus Report #770

Last night's commute was nothing special. Crowded 22 Fillmore bus, then a few minutes' wait for the 5 Fulton, where I explained about transfers to a nice woman from Quebec.
"You have no snow here?" she asked.
"No snow," I replied.

I went to meet my writing group at a cafe I like on Divisadero. Again, nothing special, not for a while.
I was talking to C. before we went to meet the rest of our group, and I caught sight of someone so familiar sitting at the bar in the middle of the cafe.
Who was he? He had long hair and a short beard, tired but bright eyes. He smiled with his friends, pored over the menu. Was he an actor? Someone I'd gone to school with? I couldn't stop looking over at him. I needed to remember how I knew him.

Right before we were set to leave, I remembered - it was the Handsome South Asian Chef, Sameer!
A few years older, in civilian clothes and not kitchen garb. But hey... aren't we all?

I looked at him again and he cocked his head, grinned, and pointed at me.
"Hey," he said from across the bar.
I grinned back. "Been a while," I said. "Nice to see you."
"You, too," he said.