Wednesday, October 27, 2010


Last Saturday, I was waiting for the 831. Psych!

I was actually waiting for the 811. See, I couldn't sleep, and I thought a trip to the gym would be just the thing to wear my rebellious body down to the point where it would somnolesce.

So I was waiting for the 811. While I was waiting, another guy came up and sat down near me on the bench. He offered me coffee. (You must not be from around here, friend . . .) As we made idle conversation, it became clear that he was somewhat intoxicated, so I kept my responses friendly and noncommittal (I had bad luck with drunk people as a missionary . . .) It appeared he was also waiting for the 811, as he got change out of his pocket and meticulously counted it multiple times.

I was surprised, then, that when the 811 came, he did not get on. The bus driver commented that he must be waiting for the 831. I remarked that, if so, he had a while to wait. See, it was 6:06 A.M.

The first 831 of the day on Saturdays hits that stop at 8:49. That's a while.

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