Bus Report #813
I was excited, though at the same time I thought they might have seen another kind of alien - another lonely, elderly man who trembles a lot and always has his mouth open, often moving his lips so that he looks like a fish.
I didn't say anything, didn't want to break the spell, but in my heart I just knew the Alien Donut Man had been recalled to his home galaxy. I hadn't seen him in months and it just made me sad to think of him disappearing and being gone for good.
Tonight, on a crowded 38 Geary, I sat in the window seat in the back of the bus listening to an old episode of This American Life and generally spacing out, staring out the window.
At Geary and Larkin we stopped in front of the saddest laundromat I know of, with its graffitied, dirty windows and the defeated looking people waiting for their washes to be finished.
Out the window I saw a familiar figure.
It was the Alien Donut Man, walking in his shuffly, pained way, no parka or scarf on, just a blue button down shirt buttoned all the way up to his chin. He stared down at his feet as he walked. His white, wispy hair looked thinner, still floated around his head in the wind.
I smiled and sat back in my seat, happy.