I missed the #44 bus last night, watching it passed as I stood across the street on Fulton and 8th. I could have waved. It might have stopped. But it was crowded and I decided to let it go. At the bus shelter it said 18 minutes before the next one. I took a walk in the ripping wind. Glad to be bundled up in my winter coat.
The bus looked empty when it arrived. After I boarded someone in the front said hello. It was Zach T sitting on an electric scooter. Hello, I said, I just met a friend of yours yesterday and you were on our mind. I sat down across from him. New bike, I observed. Yeah. He nodded. It’s fantastic.
Zach is probably in his early twenties. When we fist met at the Sacred Grounds he walked with a limp with the aid of a walking stick. But when he read his poetry was fiery and punctuated, fabulously hip-hop without a trace of debilitation. Sometimes he just came to listen. Huddled in a corner, left as quietly as he came.
He told me he missed two buses. I told him I missed one. That was all that it took to meet up. It was late at night. Few people got on the bus as we chatted. He invited me to draw and paint with him and his friends. I said yes I’d like that. He got off at Mission and Silver. I got off a little further down and trudged uphill.
nice story.