I am on MATS, the Sherman downtown run, and I really haven't had time
to write my post. I have begun a personal relationship with my bus
driver. My bus driver is asking chapter and verse about me. She
doesn't know I am @WanderingWilbo. Right now, a regular rider is
showing off her birthday cake. Her friend and she had just picked up
celebration supplies at Meijers. The bus driver even knows her phone
number and that there's good ice cream at home for that cake. Before
one rider deboarded at Henry and Broadway, he let her know street
corner and time to look for him again. Indeed, the drivers will call
on another to coordinate transfers between buses. I had been warned
that the bus on Sherman around 5 is a short bus. It also arrives 12
minutes later than the Night Owl version. So midway to McDonald's, I
hear honk honk honking behind me. Yep, my bus driver recognized me but
she guessed I was walking over to Mangos for a snoot. Waiting for a
bus is no chore, really. It's a chance to be hyperlocal. In 1983,
waiting for a bus at Gratiot and Nine Mile in the then East Detroit, I
experienced my first Cannoli from Bommaritos Bakery. East Detroit is
now Eastpointe, affinity with Grosse and disconnection from Detroit.
Tonight, a girl of ten bounced on her trampoline until she got cold
and went back in house. In a booster seat, a younger girl gazed at me,
and she smiled back until her car rolled on. Back when all this wandering started as a really serious business,
January 2005, I was waiting for a bus on a really snowy stop on 12
Mile, Royal Oak, MI. I couldn't get my truck out onto the main
streets. A friend in a jeep drove by, blowing his horn and waving. He
was a wealthy stockbroker. Next day at the coffee house, he takes me
aside, "Hey friend. Don't sell it on the streets. Need a loan Ask for
one".
to write my post. I have begun a personal relationship with my bus
driver. My bus driver is asking chapter and verse about me. She
doesn't know I am @WanderingWilbo. Right now, a regular rider is
showing off her birthday cake. Her friend and she had just picked up
celebration supplies at Meijers. The bus driver even knows her phone
number and that there's good ice cream at home for that cake. Before
one rider deboarded at Henry and Broadway, he let her know street
corner and time to look for him again. Indeed, the drivers will call
on another to coordinate transfers between buses. I had been warned
that the bus on Sherman around 5 is a short bus. It also arrives 12
minutes later than the Night Owl version. So midway to McDonald's, I
hear honk honk honking behind me. Yep, my bus driver recognized me but
she guessed I was walking over to Mangos for a snoot. Waiting for a
bus is no chore, really. It's a chance to be hyperlocal. In 1983,
waiting for a bus at Gratiot and Nine Mile in the then East Detroit, I
experienced my first Cannoli from Bommaritos Bakery. East Detroit is
now Eastpointe, affinity with Grosse and disconnection from Detroit.
Tonight, a girl of ten bounced on her trampoline until she got cold
and went back in house. In a booster seat, a younger girl gazed at me,
and she smiled back until her car rolled on. Back when all this wandering started as a really serious business,
January 2005, I was waiting for a bus on a really snowy stop on 12
Mile, Royal Oak, MI. I couldn't get my truck out onto the main
streets. A friend in a jeep drove by, blowing his horn and waving. He
was a wealthy stockbroker. Next day at the coffee house, he takes me
aside, "Hey friend. Don't sell it on the streets. Need a loan Ask for
one".
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