Bus Report #932

I caught the 33 yesterday morning at my usual time, after a brisk walk down damp and misty Clement Street. Despite the overcast morning there were already a handful of people waiting in line at the bakery across the street, recently awarded the prize of best bakery in the United States.

My driver was familiar, though I had not seen him in a while. He is young and has a beard, big, pretty brown eyes and a nice smile. He reminds me of a long-ago bus companion from my 22 Fillmore days, Jason (Headphones Guy, for anyone keeping track).

I said good morning and nice to see you, and he did the same.
"Have you been on vacation?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nah, out on disibility, actually. I hurt my wrist." He held up his right hand and flexed it.
"Oh, man, that's got to be tough," I replied.
"Yeah, I was fixing one of the poles," and at this, he gestured to the electrical poles that power the bus, "and it was stuck so I kept pulling, and man, I sprained my wrist really badly."
"I'm glad you're back, and that it's better," I said, before going to sit down.
"Me, too. Great to see you," he said.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, and quick, and I stepped out of the bus at Bryant, calling a cheerful "welcome back, and thanks," to the driver.