Bus Report #1078

 And I'm back, on the 33 more regularly in the mornings, the 22 and the 38/38L in the afternoons.

Two weeks short of two years and it is almost as though no time has passed at all.

Mornings I walk down to catch the 33, past homeless people sleeping in Clement Street doorways, past the woman I always worry about, washing her feet in the gutter while yelling at people who are not there.

At Schubert's I joke with the delivery guys - two lovely, friendly, smiling men who alternate weeks delivering all the good stuff - butter, cream, flour. 

"It's been a while," I say to one of them, grinning, and he stops loading his dolley to stare and smile back.

"How the hell are you?" he asks.

"Better for seeing you," I reply.

In Potrero, I visit George at the garage - a little older, a little slimmer. He grins, says, "It's good to see you, kiddo." 

Clement Street, mid-afternoon, M. and I almost pass each other on the sidewalk. We both stop, turn, exclaim, "HEY!" and then hug and catch up as though we see each other every day, no two year gap at all.

And then yesterday, waiting for the 38 at Geary, headphones on, too warm in my winter coat.

"Is that a 3 or a b?" asks a woman standing nearby. I look at the Next Bus display and say, "A 3, I think?"

And then I realize I'm talking to Jeannie, who I haven't seen in just over two years. 

We smile, tell each other we almost didn't recognize the other, then catch up on everything. She's okay, I'm okay. We ride out to the avenues together, talking about summer plans.

At the grocery store I run in to J., who used to make me decaf coffee at our local diner some mornings. He's working elsewhere now - can't blame him, since the diner's still closed - but he's happy. He tells me of his new jobs, his long weekends off. "Considering the pandemic, everything is really good," he says.

And then he tells me the diner will be open again soon, though he's too busy to go back. That's okay. I tell him I'll see him around, that I'm glad things are going so well for him.

I walk home, waving at the guys stocking fruit at the corner market, friends bent over wheels at the art studio. 

It's good to be back.