Bus Report #948
Wet bus seats, dripping umbrellas, the stink of wet clothes and stuffy buses.
The mornings have been even quieter, cozier than usual. I've drowned in layers of wool this week, warm and itchy and heavy. Good.
Clement Street in the early morning dark.
Everything covered in a sheen of water.
The woman who I sometimes chat with at the bus stop waits for her 2 Clement bus. She turns and waves as I pass by.
Tributes to Thomas, our neighborhood homeless man who passed away a few weeks back, still stuck to the side of the Walgreen's. The paper signs looking old, their writing blurs as it washes away.
Down the block, the man who sits and mumbles in front of the doughnut shop greeted me yesterday with a very lucid, "Good morning and happy holidays to you."
I nodded, wished him the same.
Even in the rain, the door that leads up to the wetsuit landing is ajar, the light in the hallway upstairs as intriguing, as inviting as ever.
The sky. Last night, walking to the bus down on Market and Montgomery, I looked up.
It was a grey, brown, and pea soup green night, the fog enveloping the tops of the buildings though I could still read the sign for the Hobart Building towering above me. Near the streetlights the sky was green and yellow.
At the Muni stop by Sutter Street, a woman idled her car so she could dig in to her purse. Behind her, the 38L honked but she was oblivious. The man standing beside me said, "Can you believe her? She's not only not watching what she's doing, but she's in the bus lane!"
"I know," I told him. "Crazy."
This morning the rain had stopped for a moment, but the streets were as damp and slick as they've been all week. I tucked my umbrella into my bag and still have not needed it today.
Halfway down the block I saw the shtetl scholar lean out his front gate and wave to me, and I waved back. I haven't seen him in over a week, so it was nice to see him, or at the very least, his arm, as I walked to catch the bus.