sitting on the bus, I noticed a slightly disheveled woman standing just off the curb, apparently saying something to the bus driver. as I observed, it became more apparent that it was a one-sided, ireful something she was saying. I didn’t catch any specific words until the fuck you! finale, accompanied with a display of the pertinent finger. it further appeared that the driver was entirely oblivious to her tirade. or accomplished at ignoring.

and it rains but isn’t so cold. I walk home in the last blue hour of the day, remembering how my cerulean umbrella reflected in the stone sidewalks in park slope. I was always frustrated knowing there was no way I could capture it on film.

—from 05 jan 2006

…I had that umbrella since boston. maybe a little over a year after this, an evening on the bus home from work: I noted to myself how long I’d managed to own this umbrella—with the cute polka dotted handle, now a little chipped and beat-up—how long I’d succeeded in not leaving it somewhere irretrievable. when I got off at my stop, with impressive promptitude, I fulfilled its destiny by forgetting it leaning against my seat.