shopped while waiting for
the 43 at 45th
and university, puzzled over american
apparel's inventory--witchy hats, dog & owner
matching sweaters, and shiny gold jumpsuits. the
racks of identical items in any new clothing store
strike me as oppressive; i much prefer the
eclecticism (and prices) of a good thrift store.
the buses that run across 45th tend to be older
and smell musty as forgotten basements and this
one was no exception. it was a double long and
completely empty except for us. i took a picture
of sarah sitting in one of the roomy front seats.
the driver (technically, they're called operators) watched through his mirror and
piped up, "can i be in one?" the bus was pulling
away from the stop already but i said, "yeah, but
i'm not sure how that would work." "next stop," he
said. true to his word, after a few passengers got
on, he got up and sat down next to sarah, both of
them mugging for the camera while the new riders
ignored what was going on. his name was Scott and
his hand dwarfed mine, meaty and strong.