The bus didn't come

I walked from Mid-City the next morning and the bike was still there.

Good lock, I thought.

With the front wheel back on - and after a little more tinkering with the chain - I was able to ride, slowly, most of the way home.

A few days later I needed to get to school for something. I decided to try to take the busted bike with me to school - I was going to ride the bus and stick the bike in the bus' bike rack - and then I'd take another bus to Plan B when I was done working.

I would love it if we all rode public transport more. My most selfish reason: the public transport system would improve. Right now buses arrive at a stop at thirty-minute intervals, if you're lucky. If a bus breaks down or, like one time, the bus driver stops to tell you she has to take the bus back to the station because someone threw up in the back, you have to wait for the next one.

The bus didn't come to the stop on Claiborne Ave. as scheduled and I couldn't take it. Most days I was patient and read a book or something. But this day I couldn't.

I walked the bike to Plan B.

I was early so I sat inside The Iron Rail, a book shop of sorts, and read.