Friday, 7 p.m., Union Fillmore - 16th Valencia
Last week he was sitting in the four-seaters, 10 maybe 12 years old.
Who knows, the older I get the younger they look. Someone asked me if I didn't know my age how old I would think I was and I told her, "Too old to play pretend."
The teen-year-old, with shiny Nike's that match his ear buds that match his backpack, sits with his feet up taking up two seats.
An older white man, maybe 55 maybe 65, depending on how many wars or divorces and how long he's been riding the Deuce Deuce, approaches and places his hand on the boy's legs.
"Don't you touch me, old man!" the boy pops off.
"I want to sit down, please."
"Ok, but you don't go touchin' my fuckin' legs. You ask me and I'll move."
"I'm sorry. There is no where else to sit."
He sits and the boy murmurs out the window. "Shit, don't be touchin' me. Old motherfucker think you can be touchin' me. I'll fuckin'....."
Tonight, the bus is full.
The teen-year-old is lounging in the very back row, taking up three seats. I walk up to him and look down. He acts like he doesn't see me.
"Really?" I say.
And I grab a pole. I'm in no form to fill an attention deficit.
A Black woman boards, maybe 40 depending how many children and how long she's been riding the Deuce Deuce, and moves to the back of the bus.
She, "Get your damn legs down, boy! I need to sit. What you think this is your damn house? You see a TV in that aisle? People need to sit, we been workin' today. Thinkin' you can just take up the whole damn seat. You should be ashamed a yo'self. This ain't your damn living room! Who's your mother?"
And I think, 'You are.'
-photo compliments of eviloars