16th and Potrero: Muni 33

16th and Potrero: Muni 33

6 minutes.

A figure is beside me, addresses me a little too close to my face.

“Hello, what’s your name?” he asks.

He has acne and couldn’t be a day over 18.

“I don’t feel like talking to you.” I say.

He asks again. “What is your name? Where are you from?”

I tell him “Nothing personal, dude, but I do not want to talk to you.”

5 minutes.

Kid is asking me again. Asking me what my name is.

I’m ignoring him. Listening instead for the crack, crackle of Muni line 33.

“Hey, what’s you‐”

Phone rings.

“Hello?”

I catch random words, and sometimes sentences. “I just wanted to tell you. …You know?… You stole my heart, and that’s…”

5 minutes.

…Time moves slower while you’re waiting for the bus. Kid hangs up the phone. “So, where are you from? What are you doing on 16th street at 12 in the morning?” Kid stands up. “What are you doing out here? Drugs? Is it drugs? I got some yay.” …. “From your silence, I’m getting ‘yes’. You know, I’m not just some regular brownie out here on the street. Do you know where you are? Where are you from? Have you even been to the city before!?!?”

3 minutes. “What are you doing out here on 16th street at 12 in the morning?! You could be dead!”

I hold in the urge to yell at him to shut up.

He walks in front of my vision. “Are you after drugs? Where are you from? What are you doing out here? You’re at a bus stop! Are you waiting for the 22? Is that what you’re doing? Have you ever been in the city before?”

I get up off the bench and walk out to the sidewalk. I can see a man to the left, propped up against a building reading a paper. Across the street, McDonald’s employees are closing shop; men are putting blockades in the drive‐thru.

2 minutes.

I’m pacing back and forth.

Kid is still asking me what my name is.

He smells of alcohol and ass.

Finally, I can see the 33.

“The 33? Are you waiting for the 33?” The kid’s head whips around, his beady eyes staring at me under a hood.

The bus stops to the left of Kid. I’m standing to his right.

He stands, not moving.

I walk behind him, and enter the bus. I flash my monthly pass.

Kid stands at the front of the bus, telling the bus driver he has a cigarette, or a trash can, I’m not sure, I move near the back of the bus.

A regular is sitting to my right across the aisle.

Guy Reading Paper takes the far back.

Kid comes up next to me. My backpack is on the aisle seat. He asks if he can sit next to me.

“Are you serious”, I say under my breath.

“Hey, what’s your name, can I sit here?”

“No.” I say. Then my voice booms “I have asked you several times to leave me the fuck alone!” I move to the front of the bus.

Bus Driver asks, “You OK?”

I nod.

Kid sits by regular guy on the right. As we approach 16th and Harrison, I consider getting off and waiting for the next bus. But I am frozen in my seat. Torn between looking tough and looking a fool.

I hear Kid’s voice getting louder. “…You didn’t have to be such a whiny bitch. I just wanted to know you. Know your name. Yeah you! You spoiled bitch.”

He exits the bus near BART, 16th and Mission.