Wednesday, February 19, 2020

Bus Report #1060

This morning I walked down to catch the bus even though the schedule seemed a bit off. I figured better safe than sorry.

By the grocery store there was a stack of pallets holding cases of oranges and onions. Have you looked at any produce box labels lately? They are still cool, interesting graphics and catchy names for the different brands and produce items.

The kid on the skateboard who I see most mornings sped by, nodded at me.
The door to the wet suit landing was open, for the first time in a while.

No one waiting at the bus stop except me and a woman who always stinks of cigarettes. I don't think she washes her jacket, and whenever she moves even slightly, a wave of stale smoke emanates from her clothes. She stood a few feet away, smoking, and I knew I'd have to open the windows when we got on the bus.

The 33 was late. Very late. I have a feeling my usual driver and the driver before him both missed their runs, as our bus was packed by the time we hit Fulton.

My seatmate had a tumbler full of coffee that smelled both burned and also weak, watery. She balanced it between her thighs so she could take a couple selfies.

I decided if she spilled the coffee down my leg, and if it was hot and burned me, she'd get a hard punch in the face. Nothing happened, and I mellowed out before we got to the Haight.

The mom with the two sons was there, as were the Mission High kids, and several women with septum piercings. A lot of them, actually. Maybe 15% of the women on the bus. Strange.

In the Castro, I watched a man jump up on the bus shelter seat and start patting the supports of the shelter. Had he hidden something somewhere and was he now looking for it? Hard to say.
We picked up a handful of more passengers and continued on our way.

When we got to my stop, a dozen of us streamed off the bus and crossed the street.
I slowed my pace to say hi to the guys at the garage, then walked the rest of the way to work. It was sunny by then, and my sunglasses didn't feel dark enough.

I blinked my way down 16th Street.


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