So I got off the #44 at 15th and Campus Parkway, in the U District, always an interesting place to wait. Two college-age women who looked kind of gorgeously Middle Eastern were waiting, one of them on the phone all the time, saying, "Mona this," and "Mona that." When the #271 arrived, they got on too. Another chat with Mona ensued.
It was a lovely autumn day, and I was glad not to be driving. I'm always glad not to be driving, but today it meant I could devote my full attention to the fall color. Over there on the Eastside, as we cyclists know, the roads are smooth and the potholes few. I hadn't realized, though, that the freeways are lovely. We traveled along roads where the meridians between streams of traffic are planted like mini-mixed forests, already beautiful in their youth. Years from now, I guess you won't see the other side at all.
At one intersection, I saw a pedestrian Stop signal, the raised, red hand, where somebody had carefully removed the lightbulbs that illuminate the middle finger, producing what I guess is the Trekkies' hand sign. Clever.
I'd like to read on the bus, I guess. On my usual short jaunts, there's too much to see. But 80 minutes! I'd brought along a New Yorker, but only the four minutes at the Bellevue Transit Center were dull enough for me to open it.
Speaking of dull, I guess this post is kind of dull. I probably need to say how Bellevue is like another country when you live on my side of Seattle, so think of it as a report on my recent vacation.
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