I ride the bus a lot. On an average day, I get on at least five buses: To tutor in the morning and come home. To work in the afternoon. To tutor after work in the evening, and then home. I love the ability the bus gives me to ride freely, and just observe.
Today, I saw:
A Greenpeace canvasser, baseball cap on and green shirt tucked into short shorts. Sunglasses over her eyes. Clipboard at the ready. It’s a common enough sight on Boradway these days. But what’s this? She appears to be being harangued by a seven-foot tall aging hippie, with flowing grey locks past his shoulders, baggy jeans and some kind of freeform-woven vest thing.
His arms are waving, his head is shaking as he makes some imortant point. I imagine him raving about the origins of Greenpeace and how the early glories of Patrick Moore and all the other idealists was lost on the essentially capitalistic approach of subsequent generations.
The woman with the clipboard is even half-smiling. This guy’s no threat. He’s tall, but she’s also tall. Plus, at his age, it looks like arthritis might be beginning to cripple him. I wonder what she’s thinking. Probably still idealistic, standing around on street corners for what amounts to a pittance. Is she looking forward to going home and having a nourishing meal of adzuki beans and homous? I can’t tell.
The bus rolls past.