Bus Report #970
I sat in a backwards facing seat across from a skater kid with an ugly cut and scab on his arm. He picked off the scab and started flinging it onto the floor (ugh!) and then he tried to blot his bloody arm with the corner of his sweatshirt. It was disgusting. I handed him a tissue.
He stared at it, blankly, then took it and nodded a thank you. Spent the rest of the ride pressing the tissue on his cut, taking it off to examine the blood, and pressing it right back down.
Friday after work, a decidedly empty 22 Fillmore.
I got on the bus at my usual stop, maybe four other riders in total. I suppose people had the day off for Good Friday, maybe? At De Haro, Mauricio got on an slid into the seat beside me. He loves his Fridays, loves his couple of after work beers before he gets on the bus.
We chatted in a mixture of Spanish and English, talked about his love of the beach, holiday weekend obligations, and what a beautiful day it was.
As he always does when we're about to get to Mission, he waved his hand and asked if I was continuing on. "To the avenues?" he asked.
"To the avenues," I said. "Have a great weekend, see you later."