Bus Report #774
The bus stopped at Church and 18th. There was a flurry of early evening activity in and around Dolores Park. It was beautiful, one of those orange sunset nights when I feel a swell of love for our city.
People played tennis and basketball, skaters and bicyclists zoomed by, people got on and off our bus and off the J Church, other folks lay out on blankets in the park and in the middle of it all, a couple of boys stood kissing by the bus stop.
My seatmate nudged me and said, "wow, look at those guys, they should get a room."
I laughed and said, "You know, I think they're doing just fine. They're in their own world."
She laughed, too and nodded. "I just meant, you know, there's so much distraction," she said.
But there wasn't, not for those guys.
They were still at it when our bus pulled away.
Later, hours later, at a crowded venue on 24th Street, I turned to look out the front window of the cafe where our last Litcrawl event was held, and the man who looks familiar from the back was standing outside, smoking. I hadn't seen him in a while and for a moment I thought, that guy looks really familiar, how do I know him? He turned around to talk to a friend, and that's when I realized who he was.
A few minutes later, overcome with the smoke (and not too impressed with the performance we were watching) M. and I left the cafe and walked toward Mission. I couldn't stand the smoke, she said. And I wanted to say something like, no, it's okay, I know that guy.