Midnight Express
I HEART Tri-met!
On the bus you experience so much of the city the average car commuter misses. And, you can read.
I ride the 11:32 p.m. bus home from work. I aways hustle to catch the 11:32 because the next bus doesn't come untill 12:02 a.m and I've arbitrarily decided that after midnight it's no longer safe to walk the four well-lit blocks from the bus stop to my apartment.
I board the bus and scan for possible serial killers while walking to the last open seat. From the back I can keep track of the others. The bus is unusually empty, a few street punks, a couple college students and in the very back row four African American kids - maybe late teens or early 20s - who are loud and drunk, but harmless.
Two men, two-women. One man - the quiter guy - is toting a five foot stack of green 10-gallon buckets and drumsticks home from a night of busking. His buddy is loaded and slurring and, well, obnoxious.
I open "Riding With Rilke" and the noise of the bus falls away. Actually the noise of the buss passes out across three seats, but I don't know this yet. I'm with Ted Bishop on his Ducati outside of Green River, Utah and "just south of here in a harsh red mountain range, the Hole-In-The-Wall Gang relaxed between robberies."
Bishop is talking about Jesse James and Butch Cassidy when I notice the bus isn't moving and look up from the page.
There's a thick blue leg, dark blue strip, beside me and a large hand wrapped around a handgun next to the leg.
A GUN.
Two guns.
Three Guns.
All drawn. All in the hands of cops. All less than two-feet from my head.
I'm thinking, if they decide to use these things, I'm in a very unfortunate seat.
They've come for the passed-out kid becuase he meets the description of some one reportedly seen waving a gun: A black man in back jeans and a black jacket.
Of course, it's crucial to have ready weapons when approaching an unconscious suspect.
All four are off the bus; and then all of us are off the bus - the yeasty warm smell of baking bread clinging to the fog.
The kid is not armed - just riding while black, which, I think, is a felony in Portland Police statuetes.
They keep us there untill the the 12:02 arrives.
Two possible serial killers on that one.
Can't get this kind of ride in a car.
I HEART Tri-Met!
On the bus you experience so much of the city the average car commuter misses. And, you can read.
I ride the 11:32 p.m. bus home from work. I aways hustle to catch the 11:32 because the next bus doesn't come untill 12:02 a.m and I've arbitrarily decided that after midnight it's no longer safe to walk the four well-lit blocks from the bus stop to my apartment.
I board the bus and scan for possible serial killers while walking to the last open seat. From the back I can keep track of the others. The bus is unusually empty, a few street punks, a couple college students and in the very back row four African American kids - maybe late teens or early 20s - who are loud and drunk, but harmless.
Two men, two-women. One man - the quiter guy - is toting a five foot stack of green 10-gallon buckets and drumsticks home from a night of busking. His buddy is loaded and slurring and, well, obnoxious.
I open "Riding With Rilke" and the noise of the bus falls away. Actually the noise of the buss passes out across three seats, but I don't know this yet. I'm with Ted Bishop on his Ducati outside of Green River, Utah and "just south of here in a harsh red mountain range, the Hole-In-The-Wall Gang relaxed between robberies."
Bishop is talking about Jesse James and Butch Cassidy when I notice the bus isn't moving and look up from the page.
There's a thick blue leg, dark blue strip, beside me and a large hand wrapped around a handgun next to the leg.
A GUN.
Two guns.
Three Guns.
All drawn. All in the hands of cops. All less than two-feet from my head.
I'm thinking, if they decide to use these things, I'm in a very unfortunate seat.
They've come for the passed-out kid becuase he meets the description of some one reportedly seen waving a gun: A black man in back jeans and a black jacket.
Of course, it's crucial to have ready weapons when approaching an unconscious suspect.
All four are off the bus; and then all of us are off the bus - the yeasty warm smell of baking bread clinging to the fog.
The kid is not armed - just riding while black, which, I think, is a felony in Portland Police statuetes.
They keep us there untill the the 12:02 arrives.
Two possible serial killers on that one.
Can't get this kind of ride in a car.
I HEART Tri-Met!
posted by holly at 8:55 PM
4 Comments:
Model Mugging...heard of it? Sure would be nice to know that you are protected in the night.
OK, what's model mugging? ... most of the time I catch a ride and often when I take the late bus there's a copy editor who lives a couple blocks from me on it. we get off at the same stop. so i'm not often totally solo.
God, you're funny, Holly. I love the way your mind works, and your fingers type!
So funny to read this after hearing you tell it. The different details you choose to write.
Yeah, gotta love the need to approach a sleeping kid with a loaded gun. Yup.
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