Bus Report #935
Outside it was cold and dark. The sky was blue-black with a thin ribbon of white-blue at the top. No fog, and no wind.
A few people sat huddled over coffees at the doughnut place.
The homeless woman I worry about, constantly, was still asleep in her blankets in her usual doorway.
Further down the street, past the steamy windows of the Chinese bakery, past the propped-open door at Schubert's and the open door to the wetsuit landing, a man stood in a shop entry way. Was he talking to himself? Was he peeing? No. He was talking with, or at, a girl who sat cross legged on the ground with her back against the door. He wandered away up the street. The girl said, "She's the one. She's the one who did it."
I hurried past her, not wanting to be the 'she' the girl was talking about.
As I neared the bus stop, the woman who is always running past me to catch the 38 walked by.
"I think I'm on time today," she said, pausing to chat for a moment.
"Have a great weekend," I told her. "Hope you catch your bus all right."
"Thanks," she said. She waved and continued on her way.
Across the street from the bus stop, the blinds in two second-floor apartments were open and the lights were on. In one apartment a man sat with his toddler son. They ate breakfast while a TV blinked bright light that cast a weird shadow across the man's face.
In the other apartment, to my surprise, a man walked around the room naked, his back to the street. He stretched. He bent over and picked something up. Then, he sat down - on a bed, I imagine? and embraced his partner, someone I could not really see except for their black shirt with long sleeves.
I turned away. It was their moment, not mine.
In Potrero Hill I watched three crows fight over slices of pizza that had been lying on the sidewalk for two days.
Robins hopped across the green grass at Jackson Park. They are fearless little birds. One of them hopped closer to the fence and I swear he was watching me.