Bus Report #958
The 22 was almost empty. Even so, when the man we call Richard (or was it Ricardo?) got on, he slipped in to the seat beside me and said hello.
He'd had a few beers and was happy for the weekend. He spoke to me in a mix of Spanish and English. We chatted about weekend plans, about how glad we were that the rain had stopped.
He held out his hand and introduced himself as Mauricio. We shook.
"Rachel," I said, "mucho gusto."
He decided it was better if I was Raquel, and told me so.
I've always liked the name Mauricio, so from now on, Richard/Ricardo will be Mauricio.
At Mission Street he got out. "You going on further?" he asked, waving his hand in the direction of 16th Street.
"Yes," I said. "Have a good weekend."
Not much later, on the 38, a friendly, blond tax preparer from Texas charmed me and the woman sitting beside him. He was so sweet and friendly, and the three of us talked our entire commute from Divisadero to 6th Ave. We all agreed the rain was tiring but necessary, we loved the fog, and the weather was much better here than it was back in Texas.