Bus Report #910
I did not need my sunglasses at all, and as the bus climbed up towards Clayton and Market, I could not see the city below us. It was at once exhilarating and terrifying.
My seatmate from Market Street to Potrero was a man who is always nicely dressed in well-coordinated brightly colored corduroy pants and button-down shirts.
Today he smelled like lox and bagels and cream cheese. The sense of smell is a powerful thing: I was instantly transported back in time, to weekends with my whole extended family and mounds of bagels with all the fixings, the weekend newspapers spread across the table, endless pots of coffee percolating while breakfast morphed into brunch and then into lunch. The smell of my grandfather's aftershave and the mints he ate to disguise the fact he'd been smoking while out walking with my brother or cousins.
At Potrero I stepped down from the bus and walked the rest of the way to work, craving an everything bagel with cream cheese and a large Dunkin Donuts coffee, regular.