Bus Report #968
Four days in a row with Leon as our early morning driver.
After everyone hops out at Potrero I ride along with him down to Kansas. We talk about the weather, Leon's one-man campaign to educate riders about not running out in traffic to catch the bus, his recent home improvement projects.
It's nice.
This afternoon, the man sitting across the aisle from me is so beautiful I can't stop staring. He's got perfect skin, slightly rosy, a well-trimmed mustache framing a delicate pink mouth. So beautiful, I wonder if he used to be a woman? Shame on me, I suppose, but I spend a few minutes subtracting the mustache, the buzz cut, the boy's figure. But I can't see it. He's just a beautiful man.
He gets out at 16th and Mission.
I was listening to a new podcast on the way home - don't we love podcasts that are long enough to keep us company along our commutes? And man, is it good. As the bus arrived in to the stop at Duboce, something happened in the podcast that stopped me short. I think I even held my breath for a moment, and then I bit in to my tongue.
Because otherwise, I really think I'd have started crying.
Good lord.
Still recovering from it. It's like aftershocks.
I'll let you discover it on your own, for now. Maybe in a month or two I'll let you know what I was listening to.
Geary and Fillmore, waiting for the 38 bus with a dozen or so other people. The bus slides in to the stop and we pile on. I sit across from a huge kid who spends the whole ride talking loudly on the phone - or at least, I think he's on the phone, but then I notice he is not on the phone at all. Just speaking out into the ether. His big brown eyes bulging and sweeping the bus for someone to listen to him.
After everyone hops out at Potrero I ride along with him down to Kansas. We talk about the weather, Leon's one-man campaign to educate riders about not running out in traffic to catch the bus, his recent home improvement projects.
It's nice.
This afternoon, the man sitting across the aisle from me is so beautiful I can't stop staring. He's got perfect skin, slightly rosy, a well-trimmed mustache framing a delicate pink mouth. So beautiful, I wonder if he used to be a woman? Shame on me, I suppose, but I spend a few minutes subtracting the mustache, the buzz cut, the boy's figure. But I can't see it. He's just a beautiful man.
He gets out at 16th and Mission.
I was listening to a new podcast on the way home - don't we love podcasts that are long enough to keep us company along our commutes? And man, is it good. As the bus arrived in to the stop at Duboce, something happened in the podcast that stopped me short. I think I even held my breath for a moment, and then I bit in to my tongue.
Because otherwise, I really think I'd have started crying.
Good lord.
Still recovering from it. It's like aftershocks.
I'll let you discover it on your own, for now. Maybe in a month or two I'll let you know what I was listening to.
Geary and Fillmore, waiting for the 38 bus with a dozen or so other people. The bus slides in to the stop and we pile on. I sit across from a huge kid who spends the whole ride talking loudly on the phone - or at least, I think he's on the phone, but then I notice he is not on the phone at all. Just speaking out into the ether. His big brown eyes bulging and sweeping the bus for someone to listen to him.
posted by Rachel at 6:07 PM
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