87 Bus, Clarendon Hill

Blathering about the weather gets old, I know, but can you believe that it snowed today? Nothing enduring, but still, come on, two days ago, we were on the beach, it was seventy, we worked up a sweat walking up and down the dunes. This is sadistic, even for the cruel weather gods of the northeast.

So, our friend John came down from Portland to see the M83 show with Terri. I rarely turn down shows, even when I don’t really like the band, but they really didn’t do anything for me, and I opted for the stay-home-and-read plan. I made that decision a while ago, but thanks to my sudden enrapturement (shut up, it really is a word) with Cloud Atlas, I welcomed some time to finish it off.

Had dinner with John and Terri, though, at Johann’s (and I left work early enough that we made the early bird special– bliss to be out so early!), and parted ways as they went into the station, and I headed to the Someday for some caffienation. Got antsy pretty quickly after my stimulant was imbibed, and headed home. I opted to take the bus home. Usually, I condemn this as an act of laziness, but, I reasoned, the snow had barely turned to a cold drizzle, and I was without an umbrella and dressed for mid-50′s weather. Most importantly, I can’t read while walking.

As I was waiting at the bus stop, a kid hit me up for a dollar to ride the bus. I admired the cheek, and would have given it to him had I anything smaller than a $10. When the bus came, the cheeky kid climbed aboard first, and by the time I got on, was negotiating with the driver, a just-pre-grandmotherly Somerville type.

Driver:”Look, you say ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any money, and even though I’m young and could walk on my healthy legs, I was wondering if you could take me home to my mommy because it’s late.’ You don’t say ‘I’m broke, can I ride anyway’ Go ahead and take a seat.”

My fellow passengers were mostly amused. A guy up front piped in “That’s exactly what I woulda told him!”

Driver: “Well, he’s gotta learn. Somtimes sugar works better than vinegar.”

She began chatting with the guy up front, who I gathered was named Maurice, who must ride her bus frequently, and who was wearking a Yankees windbreaker.

Maurice: “I’m going to the game tomorrow. I got two signs. The first one says…” (bus started climbing the hill, so I missed it, but something to the effect that the Sox suck). “The second one–”

Driver: “And how are you gonna hold that second sign up on two crutches?”

My stop. Maybe the shortest bus ride of my life.