Bus Report #927
I could smell the dampness, see the fog wrap itself around the buildings and lampposts as I walked down the street to meet the bus.
The pigeon family who has taken up residence above one of our many "closed for kitchen remodel" restaurants was out on the sidewalk, the parents watching the chicks poke and peck at the cement.
Down the block, three crows fought over strips of shredded paper.
The homeless woman I constantly worry about was already awake, walking back and forth near her luggage with a quilt wrapped around her shoulders. If I thought she would accept it, I'd bring her hot tea and an egg sandwich to warm her up. But I've seen her yell at people who try to help her. She gets frightened by the close contact. I don't want to make her feel uncomfortable.
Near Third Ave., a woman walked her rambunctious French Bulldog puppy - I did not mind his enthusiastic jumping as I walked by. They are my Kryptonite, those French Bulldogs.
The bus was early and I made a dash to catch it as it pulled in to our stop.
The overly-cologned, (former Axe body spray user) man got on and said good morning, and then he and his terrible cologne drifted towards the back of the bus.
Everyone was quieter today, more subdued. Was it down to the fog, the cool air?
I didn't know, but I also didn't mind.
We arrived at Bryant Street much earlier than usual. I got out and walked, the morning still cool and quiet, and still foggy even in Potrero.
This is why I love it here.
Summer, San Francisco style.