Delray Beach Bus Loop Took on Atlantic Avenue
|Here's your drinking passport.|
Some of the bus drivers didn't know where they were going -- like, they had no idea. The first bus we got on was missing its Bus Loop Ambassador, volunteers who know how everything is supposed to work, where it's supposed to go, and how to handle any problems that might arise. After listening to the beleaguered driver go back and forth with some of the other passengers, I made my way to the front and showed him my Bus Loop Card. It had the route printed on a street map on one side, the other side had all the venues and the drinks and appetizers (if any) that they offered.
I told him he needed to turn left to get us to our next stop. He did so -- with me still standing with the door still open. V looked ready to launch out of her seat and catch me if I fell out of the door, which I appreciated. I flung myself into the first row and hung on.
We were ready to get off. Prior to me directing the bus, this was our situation. M had shouted over the general melee inside the trolley: "This is my friend Rebecca [me]! She's sexy and she likes a booty smack!" I ducked my head and cringed behind V. Hooting and whistling followed. I glared at M, who was perched on the bench at the back of the bus. She did not look sorry. Thanks to the vodka and tonic I'd gotten at Bull Bar with my Loop Card, this was hilarious instead of terrifying, but anyhow, I wanted to get off, while this was still the only response to the pronouncement.
Also, V, who sat next to me, was having her hair petted by The Stalker. We picked up The Stalker a few bars ago and haven't quite been able to shake her. She was very nice as long as you're the sort of person who enjoys overly personal "compliments" that make no sense. M was gesturing wildly over The Stalker's head, mouthing "Stranger Danger! Stranger Danger!" V took the whole thing in stride and instead explained to the couple next to us that, no, the tattoo on her shoulder was not of her child, it was of Rosie the Riveter.
|Poetry in motion.|
I sipped. Good God, I have never enjoyed a margarita so much! I scribbled in my notebook. I'm pretty sure at that point I wrote something really poignant about friendship and love and the meaning of life, about how bars and bus loops can bring new people together and renew old friendships. It was the sort of life-affirming prose so transcendent it becomes poetry. (I cannot read my smugdey notes; my little notebook got drenched in the condensation of my many drinks.)
I had only introduced V and M tonight. They were completely different looking, V covered in tattoos and M, petite and Latin, smoothing her perfect hair. They were already in friendship-love with each other, heads together, conversing in Spanish.
What I wrote was probably epic, but then so was the margarita.
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