Bus Report #868
A cool but sunny morning.
The homeless woman I worry about all the time sat, as usual, on top of her suitcases in front of the produce market. She always looks very put together, and sits rigidly upright, sometimes speaking softly into a cell phone but most of the time just sitting there, her hands folded in her lap, looking like a stately older woman waiting for her train at the train station. I've asked the police to check on her before - and I think I might talk to them about her again. She could be someone's mom or grandma. She belongs indoors, in a cozy room or sitting at the kitchen table. She sits so serenely, often while some of our crazier neighborhood homeless folks scream and lurch down the empty early morning sidewalk. I worry about her. Every day.
I waited for the 33 Stanyan (soon to become the 33-Ashbury) with the man who always reeks of cloying, hideous teenage bodyspray. He had a new haircut this morning, short, almost bald on the sides, with a bit of a bouffant on the top. No words.
We got on the bus, the same bus as every morning, though Mr. Bodyspray always feels the need to flag the bus down (giving me flashbacks of the bus flagger).
In the Haight, the cops were rousting folks who had spent the night sleeping in doorways. The sleepy people packed up their bags, suitcases and bed rolls, leaving the street strewn with paper and bottles and dark trails of unidentified liquids. They shuffled toward the park where they most likely spread their things out again.
At the corner of Haight and Ashbury, in the shadow of Ben & Jerry's and two chain clothing stores, a man squatted beside the sewer grate, his pants down, exposing his pinkish white ass and thighs. He took his time doing... whatever he was doing. Didn't seem to care we could all see him.
Delightful.
The homeless woman I worry about all the time sat, as usual, on top of her suitcases in front of the produce market. She always looks very put together, and sits rigidly upright, sometimes speaking softly into a cell phone but most of the time just sitting there, her hands folded in her lap, looking like a stately older woman waiting for her train at the train station. I've asked the police to check on her before - and I think I might talk to them about her again. She could be someone's mom or grandma. She belongs indoors, in a cozy room or sitting at the kitchen table. She sits so serenely, often while some of our crazier neighborhood homeless folks scream and lurch down the empty early morning sidewalk. I worry about her. Every day.
I waited for the 33 Stanyan (soon to become the 33-Ashbury) with the man who always reeks of cloying, hideous teenage bodyspray. He had a new haircut this morning, short, almost bald on the sides, with a bit of a bouffant on the top. No words.
We got on the bus, the same bus as every morning, though Mr. Bodyspray always feels the need to flag the bus down (giving me flashbacks of the bus flagger).
In the Haight, the cops were rousting folks who had spent the night sleeping in doorways. The sleepy people packed up their bags, suitcases and bed rolls, leaving the street strewn with paper and bottles and dark trails of unidentified liquids. They shuffled toward the park where they most likely spread their things out again.
At the corner of Haight and Ashbury, in the shadow of Ben & Jerry's and two chain clothing stores, a man squatted beside the sewer grate, his pants down, exposing his pinkish white ass and thighs. He took his time doing... whatever he was doing. Didn't seem to care we could all see him.
Delightful.
posted by Rachel at 10:27 AM
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