Headphones On

Photo from Eagle vs Shark

1. Standing at my bus stop, not very patiently, waiting for the #11. I hear her before I see her. Swish Swish Swish, the sound of polyester pants. I look up from the crack in the sidewalk I am trying to move with my Uri Geller like concentration. Walking towards me is a girl who looked like she stepped off a lift at Steamboat... Burton snowboarding jacket (not so odd in this weather), snowboarding pants (!), snowboarding boots (!!). All presented not with a snowboard in hand, but a dainty floral Kate Spade handbag. Swish Swish Swish. She walks past.
   
2. Still standing at the bus stop, even less patience than before. The crack in the sidewalk has still not altered despite my intense stare.
   "Hey Cubs. Hey Cubs. Hey Hey SLUT!"
   I look up. An elderly man with Treasure Island grocery bags in his hands is standing across the street yelling at a fence. I think first about the bags, quickly deciphering that the closest Treasure Island is probably in Hyde Park and six months from opening. I dub ye olde crazy man, future man. I begin to envision him as the Future Tense of the 20 something office worker to my left at the bus stop.
   Present Tense is ignoring Future Tense. Future Tense turns from his fence that he's so apt at antagonizing... and starts screaming at Present Tense and I. Future Tense's screams are indecipherable in the wind and snow. Present Tense mumbles something about crazies...
   "Hey Cubs! Hey! HEYY! Cubs Slut!"
   I ponder taking my camera out of my bag. I never know the appropriateness of taking a photo in a situation like this. While no, it's not generally nice to take photos of the delusional... Future Tense here has this look of utmost determination that it would be a shame to miss. The anger is wrinkling up his forehead as he takes a long breathe and starts screaming again...
   "Cubs SLUUUUUUT"
   
3. Still at the god damn bus stop. Future Tense has wandered off. Present Tense must have got bored of waiting and hopped on the blue line. Cars scream by overhead on the freeway. The #11 finally turns the corner and approaches the huddled masses under the freeway. The bus pulls up and stops. The doors do not open. The driver looks at me. He opens a copy of the Red Eye and waits.