I was surprised at how crowded the bus was for two reasons: 1) I think, in general, students shy away from scheduling Friday classes, and 2) It's a few weeks into the semester now, and about the time stduents, a lot of them anyway, start avoiding, or abandoning, early morning classes.
At the Gorman and Conifer intersection, we had to stop for a school bus (ironically, university buses are not considered "school" buses), and it took quite a while for the huge number of kids at that stop to board. While waiting, I thought about my to-do list items, particularly the ones that I want to knock off before I travel on the tenth anniversary of 9/11.
The guy sitting to my right was doing Spanish homework. In an interesting juxtaposition with the guy standing right in front of me in the aisle who kept adjusting his junk, the Spanish book was opened to: "Estructura III: Expressing desires and intentions." He then flipped the page to: "Making statements about motives and intentions." For some queer reason the lyrics to a song came to mind: "He drinks tequila, and she talks dirty in Spanish."
I snapped out of that digression only in time to hear this soundbite of the conversation between another guy standing in the aisle and the girl next to him. She said with regards to a party they'd both been to the night before, "Never do that again that close to my face."
My work day was focused on getting things finished up, or at least leaving them in a palatable state, in advance of being out for a week.
I was at work until about 6:00, but I left feeling good about where I was and what I'd left.
Once again, I napped instead of working out, and I'm just ignoring the possible correlation between not working out lately and the pain returning in both my knees—but especially in the one I had the surgery on a couple of years ago. Nobody cares about your aches and pains.
After a stop at The Borough, I made my way over to Legends, where I watched just a little bit of the show. Jackie Beat was there, and since I'd just seen her on Thursday, I didn't care to listen to her schtick again. I love the word schtick.
I spent the rest of the time there talking with Dick. And, no, that's not a metaphor. My friend Richard, who goes by Dick, albeit I think for the tips, was the bartender in the dance bar, which was virtually deserted while everyone watched the show in the Spotlight Theater on The View side of the place.