2002-10-07|9:38 p.m.
Its cool outside as we wait for the bus. A is chatty and telling me about his socialist club on campus. I can see the 41 bus approaching and I flip over my back pack to get my student ID ready.
The massive vehicle stops itself, sighing as it kneels to let us in. The six or so of us standing at the stop load on. Students seem to be the only passengers as of yet. Students are funny. They�d much rather sit alone, solitary creatures we are. Unless of course you know someone, like I do. Or love someone, rather. So, this lover boy and I walk on and pass all the solitary students in their seats to the back of the bus where we can sit together.
I notice as we get closer to the end it is increasingly filthy and graffiti-ed. The further from the watchful eye of the driver, I imagine is the reason. I don�t mind the graffiti at all, but I am careful not to touch too many things.
But, after resting a bit, I barely notice. I begin to take inventory of my surroundings. There is a long glowing strip of florescent light down the center of the bus� ceiling. Its glow is just right. I choose the window like always, and I can barely see out of it because it is dark, but I catch a couple of well-lit business signs.
A boy across from us is reading about molecular compounds. He has blonde, close cut hair and stubble growing. Resting off his knee is his long board skateboard, which are pretty popular on campus. Another boy in the seat in front of me has long eyelashes. He is reading a chemistry book and is wearing a shirt that says �Caring for Health�. It makes me think of how much my school is geared towards creating doctors.
A is sitting close to me. His hooded cotton sweater he just bought this weekend feels nice. He scoots in even closer and rests his head on my shoulder. He lets me listen to his MP3 player with one of his earphones. The bus chugs along to Jurassic 5�s �Thin Line.� When the song finishes, he puts it on an Aimee Mann album.
A black older man boards the bus and sits right next to A. He reads the newspaper. I peek at the page. It is the Current Events section. The article is the latest on Terrorism. Occasionally he shakes his head. I wonder at what and why.
Aimee Mann�s voice is pretty and the songs seem fitting. I am sorry for a moment that she is having a hard time getting people to make her music possible. The bus rolls now to her strumming and Michael Penn�s cooing sounds in the background.
Some Mexican men wearing restaurant shirts board and sit next to students. They look tired, but not in the same way as the students do.
After about a half an hour, we approach our stop. A tells me to tug on the "request to stop" line. The bus sighs again and we walk off.
This journey happens twice a week. It is so beautiful that I wanted to bring you with me for once.