Wide wide open...

"Do you know," he says, in precise english with a heavy Eastern European accent, "which is the stop for the Blue Bus?"

At this moment the last thing I want to do is talk with someone, but at the same time this conversation is welcome: A piece of the world outside of my own.

I point out the glowing panel about a half block away from me, telling him that it is the stop for the "Blue Bus."

"But why are you here?" he asks, motioning to the bicycle leaning on the bus stop post next to me "the old bus, it does not have the means for a bicycle."

"Ah," I say, responding in equally exaggerrated english as a reflex, "but this is not my bicycle!"

We share a smile, just as the #9 arrives and we part ways - me in a single seat across from what I reflexively call the 'upstage' rear doors, he and his friend across the aisle, in a double seat closer to the driver.

I am alone. 'Finally,' I think. The privacy of the single seat is sacrosanct on the most crowded bus. The evening went well, overall. I was surprised to find some unexpected friends already at the bar and our interaction (and their diplomatic withdrawl) made things easier and less stilted. We talked about ourselves and our lives, a long-overdue unguarded conversation. My only regret is that despite my efforts I was forced to take a moment and collect myself. And I hope it wasn't misconstrued, I don't want guilt and I don't want pity....she didn't break me, when all is said and done I broke myself.

The door opposite me opens, and a woman on a cell phone pleads to someone on the other end "I will call you!" The door shuts and the bus pulls away.

I'm smiling, through optimistic (and admittedly pink) eyes. We aren't the same as we were, because of each other, and that's something I can understand.