Bus Report #1082

 Last night I meandered home.

Stopped to water my garden plot - everything suddenly growing, everything looking good - then walked back out to catch the 22 the rest of the way out to Geary. Crowded bus. 

Lots of kids with first day of school clothes, new backpacks, and some of the little girls had fresh hair ribbons tied neatly around pony tails and braids. Twins in matching outfits but different, bright pink sneakers. Adorable.

I stopped at the studio and picked up a couple pieces fresh from the kiln. On the way out, I saw a familiar figure strolling down Clement.

It was Alain, the Frenchman, who used to take the 33 in the morning with me and Olga.

"Hey, hey," I said, grinning.

He looked up, smiled, and opened his arm for a hug. "Ah, hello!" and we hugged.

We walked.

He told me he'd just returned from visiting family abroad for the first time in three years.

"Was it lovely?" I asked.

"Oh yes. So wonderful," he said. He looked at the two newly-glazed bowls in my hands, laughed.

"I was doing the same thing last year," he said, gesturing down the street at the other studio down the block. "But these are better."

"You're very kind," I told him.

We caught up a bit more, had a laugh, and parted ways. 

"I'll see you soon," I said.

"Take care," he replied.