Missing the bus

Since last Wednesday, I haven’t gotten out much. Aside from the trip to the Seahawks game (which I agreed to attend after a fair bit of cajoling) and a few other necessary excursions, I’ve been home, avoiding work, social engagements, and most errands.

Today, I can’t think of a single place I’d like to go, but as I watch the 48s and 27s and 8s and 4s pass by my living room window, I wish I was on one of them. I want to sit near strangers–the stranger, the better, in fact. I want to be distracted from the book I’ve been trying to read since November by folks talking to each other, or on their phones, or to themselves. I want to roll my eyes at that guy who opens three windows and then and yells at the driver to turn up the heat. I want to be surrounded by crying babies, exchanged phone numbers, stupid jokes, inconveniently placed grocery bags, passionate sports arguments, and ambitious knitting projects. I want to be offered an expired transfer for 50 cents, a pair of hand warmers for three dollars, a Rolex watch for twenty-five. I want to be the one who tells the newbie rider where to catch the bus to Southcenter.

All of my routes are running today, despite the snow. I think it’s about time to take a ride.

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