Bus Report #954
Monday morning, cold and drizzly walk down Clement Street to catch the 33.
The doors and windows of Clement, all closed.
In front of Sparky's, a pink balloon was tied to a parking meter. A message was written on it in permanent marker: When they go low, we go high. - Michelle Obama
Nice. Very nice.
The bus arrived on time, driven by the friendly driver who reminds me of Jason. I suppose he also looks like the actor Andre Holland - sweet smile, beautiful eyes.
(and speaking of Holland - if you have yet to see Moonlight, you've got to see it. It's got the Rachel seal of approval. The Rachel-back guarantee.)
In the Castro the smiley man got on, followed by a trio of twitchy, meth-y folks. One of the men carried a green milk crate and I don't know what was in it, but it was heavy. He hauled it up the stairs, almost hitting the smiley man in the process. All three of the twitchy folks smelled so strongly of stale cigarettes they had that nutty, old coffee smell about them, too.
The man with the crate and the lone woman among them sat behind me. The entire rest of the ride I could hear them tearing the plastic off of things, dropping things on the floor, and then scrabbling to pick them up.
I got out at my usual stop, accompanied by the smiley man who wished me a good day and quickly crossed the street before the light changed. I waited for my light, and then I hopped over large puddles on Potrero and crossed to the next corner.
The garage was just opening when I walked by and my friend there, do we call him George? he greeted me and said, "I forgot to give you your Christmas gift!"
I followed him into the office and wished his wife a Happy New Year. A moment later, George handed me a pint glass branded with their logo, filled to the brim with pens, pencils and Hershey's Kisses. I thanked him and walked the rest of the way to work clutching the glass in my free hand.
This morning, talking with the smiley man, I pointed out the amazing peach-pink sky peeking out above Potrero.
"That means a storm is coming," he said, still smiling. "Trust me. We say that in Mexico."
The doors and windows of Clement, all closed.
In front of Sparky's, a pink balloon was tied to a parking meter. A message was written on it in permanent marker: When they go low, we go high. - Michelle Obama
Nice. Very nice.
The bus arrived on time, driven by the friendly driver who reminds me of Jason. I suppose he also looks like the actor Andre Holland - sweet smile, beautiful eyes.
(and speaking of Holland - if you have yet to see Moonlight, you've got to see it. It's got the Rachel seal of approval. The Rachel-back guarantee.)
In the Castro the smiley man got on, followed by a trio of twitchy, meth-y folks. One of the men carried a green milk crate and I don't know what was in it, but it was heavy. He hauled it up the stairs, almost hitting the smiley man in the process. All three of the twitchy folks smelled so strongly of stale cigarettes they had that nutty, old coffee smell about them, too.
The man with the crate and the lone woman among them sat behind me. The entire rest of the ride I could hear them tearing the plastic off of things, dropping things on the floor, and then scrabbling to pick them up.
I got out at my usual stop, accompanied by the smiley man who wished me a good day and quickly crossed the street before the light changed. I waited for my light, and then I hopped over large puddles on Potrero and crossed to the next corner.
The garage was just opening when I walked by and my friend there, do we call him George? he greeted me and said, "I forgot to give you your Christmas gift!"
I followed him into the office and wished his wife a Happy New Year. A moment later, George handed me a pint glass branded with their logo, filled to the brim with pens, pencils and Hershey's Kisses. I thanked him and walked the rest of the way to work clutching the glass in my free hand.
This morning, talking with the smiley man, I pointed out the amazing peach-pink sky peeking out above Potrero.
"That means a storm is coming," he said, still smiling. "Trust me. We say that in Mexico."
posted by Rachel at 9:57 AM
3 Comments:
i cannot stand the smell of cigarettes on people - yuk.
Red sky in the morning, Shepard's warning.
Red sky at night, Shepard's delight.
That's what my grandmother always said and even though she's long gone I miss her, love her, trust her :-)
Solo - I know, I agree. The old smoke smell is a killer.
Robert - That's a lovely saying. I don't know if I've heard it before.
Thanks for commenting, as always!
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