People on Busses

003: Beach Ball, 21 Outbound

admin — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 00:41:02 +0000

She was the funny kind of plump with an upper body almost perfectly shaped like a giant beach beach ball – round, full and just slightly about to burst. Her shape was almost joyful in a Santa Claus kind of way. She sat quietly with her hands crossed and her legs dangling, just a bit too short to reach the floor. Her face remained expressionless as her gaze remained fixed in one direction, with a sort of quiet determination to reach her stop. She moved her head only slightly to glimpse at passengers getting off the bus while the rest of her body remained motionless with statue-like exactness. She rose slowly and tiptoed toward the exit, stepping down as the doors welcomed her to the street below.

002: Old Lady, 6 Inbound

admin — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 18:31:36 +0000

At first I didn’t realize there was something wrong with her. She was speaking aloud, but I naturally assumed there was a partner in the conversation and although she was slightly disheveled in dress, she seemed like a sweet old woman. Her voice was distinct – raspy, determined and unintentionally beautiful. I’d imagine she’d have a lovely career in the movies. Her tone quickly became alarming and her hysterical rants to passerby made it very clear that she was deep in her own version of reality.

An outcry to Jim Donna.

A plea to be hired during her job interview at UCSF.

She told the old lady sitting across from her who’s probably comparable in age that she’s never looked so well to-do before. Followed quickly thereafter by a comment that old people need to be stopped.

She wore a green, old sweatshirt with one arm tucked inside the body of the garment leaving a dead, dangly sleeve, limbless by her side. Every now and again in between spurts of anger, she playfully lifted her ugly black shoes into the air and wiggled her feet about, smiling gleefully and humming a tune under her breath.

A middle aged man sat next to her. She smiled at him noting that he too, never looked so good. He appeared happy but confused, easily picking up on her dementia. He said nothing and she continued rambling on.

“Well, there’s a wrong way to do it and you’re doing it wrong” she coyly remarked under her breath at a woman who had taken a seat nearby. The woman had bright pink hair.

001: Reading, 43 Outbound

admin — Sun, 27 Jun 2010 12:15:49 +0000

His shoes were loosely tied, flimsy and carefree as though there was no consequence to anyone at all for unraveling. He sat quietly and expressionless, as he focused his attention downward on his book checked out from the San Francisco Public Library. The plastic covering crinkled in his had as he turned the pages.

I found him attractive, but not handsome in the traditional sense. His dress was casual, his hair – short, sprinkled with shades of light ash. He seemed remarkably young in his demeanor, though the history in his face revealed his age. He was like many men I’ve come across in San Francisco. A tad scruffy. Possibly gay. Youngish, but mature. There was something that drew me to him.