Let’s hear it for crack cocaine!
On the bus home the other day back from shopping, the combined odors of someone’s salami sandwich and the Fritos some crackhead was munching on nearly caused me to ralph before I’d reached my stop. I miss the smell of the buses in San Diego. It’s this nice kind of pizza-y plastic smell. And they’re so much nicer, with their cushion-y seats and tinted windows. The smell of them reminds me of when I used to take the bus to Hillcrest to go to OutWrite, the little gay youth writing group of which I was a part one summer; or to venture downtown in the hopes of finding underage clubs or cool shopping spots; or coming back from the San Diego Youth Symphony rehearsals in Balboa Park.
