Thursday, March 20, 2003

ANOTHER STORY ABOUT PUBLIC TRANSIT

ANOTHER STORY ABOUT PUBLIC TRANSIT

It was late and I’d been on the road all day.  I’d taken a very early bus to BART to a carpool to the airport, spent the day working diligently in LA, and was on my way back the same way.  I stood down in the downtown Oakland BART station, sunk in my own thoughts, innocuous in blue cotton slacks, a yellow shirt, and my favorite $20 brown cashmere four-button sportcoat from the Bargain Bank.  Under the greenish glow of the lights, the platform was nearly deserted - except for one dude.  He had a stocky, muscular build, a square jaw, a broad nose.  His hair - wavy, dark but greying - fell to past his shoulders.  His t-shirt, jeans, leather boots and leather jacket were all black.  His soul seemed black.  He swaggered as he came down the steps, as he paced the landing, as he stood still and looked at me appraisingly.  I was carrying an attache case.  I felt pale and weak and very tired.  The man in black approached me, checked me up and down.  He was three feet from me.  I waited to hear what he had to say. 

What he said was, “Nice jacket.” He nodded curtly and stepped away, took up occupancy of a different part of the landing.  We never again made eye contact.  The jacket, however, is now marginally warmer.