Bus Report #832
Mr. Taylor held his STOP sign in his hand as well as his signature plastic bag with his bright yellow vest in it. He wore his yellow cap and a patterned sweater (reminiscent of a Bill Cosby sweater) that dwarfed him and made him look even smaller than he actually is.
He smiled and held out his tiny, wrinkled hand, and we shook and caught up on a summer's worth of doings while waiting for the 22.
Behind us, one man was sleeping, flopped over on his side on a bench. Another man with a banged-up walker sat on the other bench, his gaze turned to the left as he watched for the bus.
"Are you excited for the first day?" I asked Mr. Taylor.
He smiled and nodded. "Be honest with you, I'm glad to be back," he said.
We chatted for a few minutes and then he said, "Well, I'm going to walk today, so I'll see you later. Have a good day."
I smiled and said, "You, too. Great to see you."
My bus arrived and I got on. When our bus passed by Mr. Taylor, still making his way down Fillmore, he caught my eye and grinned and waved, and I waved back.