Bus Report #806

My seatmate on the 38 Geary last night was reading a book entitled, America, You Sexy Bitch.

At Powell Street a street performer completely covered in gold paint got on the bus. You know the type: gold skin, gold clothes and shoes, gold hat, gold everything. Despite his shiny appearance he smelled terrible and spent the majority of the ride yelling at other passengers and mumbling to himself.

Closer to home, curb construction along Geary meant that many stops were moved a few feet from their official location, confusing a few girls in shorts and San Francisco-branded sweatshirts.

This morning I caught sight of my favorite driver, in his bus across the street from me in the opposite direction - he of the snappy hat, the brilliant white teeth and the sunglasses - and he rolled down his window and called out, "Happy Easter, Rachel!"
I smiled and called back, "You too!"