queer and loathing

Bikes on busses

It was raining and I had already waited twenty-five lonely minutes at the stop for RiTA to pick me up. When she arrived and I saw there was no bus rack on the front, part of me that wanted to cry. The other part of me wanted to pick up my bike and throw it through the front window. The driver seeing the obvious look of disenchantment on my face (now dripping with rainwater) graciously offered to let me bring my bike on board.

“I’m not supposed to let you do this, baby.” She said.

But you did. Thank you.