Turn the corner and one is just pulling up. Could probably catch it by running. Golden rule – don’t run for buses.
Missed.
Another will be along soon enough. The corner of Cleveland and Elizabeth is usually an interesting place to wait.
Time passes.
An imported Nissan rumbles by with more bark than bite. The inevitable green P wedged in the rear license plate.
A couple of pharmaceutically assisted gentlemen decide that waiting for the green man is optional. They go for a weaving shuffle across four lanes. With some heavy-braking driver help they actually make it.
Two 393′s rolls past headed for Maroubra. Finally the 372 pulls up.
Climb aboard with a nod to the driver and do the Travel Ten dip whilst scanning for a seat.
The single seat right up the front is free. It is to be ignored. It feels like a special needs seat. A little pedestal so that the rest of the bus can examine the back of your head or watch you lick the windows.
A few other seats are free but standing preferred. The usual gamut of tactically defensive bag positioning and space taking sprawls mean they are not worth the effort.
Cleveland St is slow. Cleveland St. is nearly always slow. Not King St. slow but slow enough.
Past the Surry Hills Petting Zoo with the Coles and unappetising restaurant on the corner. This means passing Crown St. on the other side. Why did we move again?
These two stops are seemingly too close together. Just a little pointless. Could they have not split the difference?
Where’s a microphone? Next up on your right ladies and gentleman… Bar Cleveland. Hazy memories. Another #SHTBOX end game. Good people. Much alcohol.
People alight. A woman embarks. Actually no she doesn’t. There is a question. No, not going there my friend. Shes look strangely crestfallen. The double doors close in front of her. We pull away.
South Dowling has been breached. Success! Continuous motion is actually achieved.
Wait. Too soon. Flagged.
A new passenger. Pays in change. A bus load of eyes roll.
It also seems the declaration of victory against the traffic was somewhat premature. Long queue turning right onto Anzac Parade.
Ah touché driver. He lustily bursts down the inside lane ready to muscle in near the lights. He knows that cars arguing with buses tend to lose. His victory complete, the bus swings right and thus we roll on.
It rolls on.
Tomorrow and the next day.
