Bus Report #888

I walk over a dozen blocks to get to the bus these days, down Clement Street in the early morning quiet.
In the morning the only other people out and about are the cabbies, the restaurant workers, the delivery guys. Homeless people waking up in doorways. A man who picks up trash and moves trash cans back onto the sidewalk after trash collection. A couple who meet at the donut shop and then sit in the man's pickup truck with their coffees and pastries, sometimes arguing, sometimes making out.
The man who delivers supplies to the pizzeria, always smiling, always saying good morning, cheerful despite his 3 AM start to his day. The bus boy from Hamburger Haven.

Mornings, before the shops open and before the street comes to life, Clement belongs to the birds.
Flocks of crows (or should I say, murders of crows?), seagulls, pigeons and small sparrows vie for space on the overhead wires. They fight each other for the right to pick at the overflowing compost bins in front of some of the neighborhood's finest restaurants. The crows shriek and scream and sometimes sound eerily human.

And there are open doors on Clement. Open to let in restaurant workers and the delivery guys, open for some cool air on a warm morning.
One perpetually open door leads up a flight of stairs to a landing where a trio of wet suits hang above a wooden bench. I wonder what goes on out of sight around the corner from the landing.

I linger in front of William The Beekeeper and look at the handmade clothes, the jewelry.

When I hear the electric screech of overhead wires I dash to the corner and catch the 33, only a little breathless.