On a cold December night, me, leaning against a traffic pole, earbuds firmly entrenched in my ears, A Game of Thrones open in my hands (finally getting into it!), glancing up every moment in search of the D6, I can’t imagine I actually had an “approachable” vibe.
“Hey – hey pal!”
Digging an earbud out, a guy leaning out of his car. The guy behind him honking, finally pulling around, because the light was green. “Hey, pal, where’s the Macy’s?”
Two blocks down, make a right, two or three up on the left. I think. But I didn’t tell him that last part.
Earbud back in, three guys in suits. Drunk. I can hear them over Meatloaf. “The guy said it was right down here … Hey, hey buddy.”
Earbud back out. “Hey, hey buddy, where’s the ESPN Zone?”
“No, no it’s right around here. Where?”
I point them up a block. The D6 rumbles down the street. It’s a tight bus stop, just past a bike stand in the parking lane. The bus makes a sharp corner.
“You ride the bus?” the drunk guy looks confused.
The driver chuckles. I’m sure I just look grateful.