amnotsurly and drink coffee. It's a nice set-up. I am filled with renewed desire to work on a couple of projects I've let languish for the last year or so. And it only took a little over an hour to get home on the bus!Ok, it shouldn't have taken that long, even - the 11 now becomes the 125, from which you can transfer to the 21. However, that requires that the driver of the 21 not be leaning on the pedal and come barreling past early enough that it would have hard pressed an Olympic sprinter to get from the bay where the 125 drops you off to the stop where the 21 picks you up in time to catch it. So I got to curse loudly and stand in the cold for half-an-hour under the ramps there at Spokane & Chelan. It could have been worse, but it sure could have been better, too.
It was interesting, I will allow, to stand and listen to the cargo carting about going on just the other side of the concrete wall. When the train went past, for example, the sidewalk bounced up and down in a very clever imitation of an earthquake. I actually caught a hint of the strangeness I used to feel, coming to Seattle (before I moved here) and taking a bus route to somewhere via roads and transfers I wasn't entirely certain were correct. A sense of the very mundane just overlaid with a hint of the unknown, a certain empty oddness enhanced by the yellow cast of the light, and helped by the absence of any useful documentation in the little placard holders for the schedules. It wasn't even a feeling I was aware had disappeared until it was back again tonight.
