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Category Archives: 75
It was a nice weekday morning in Northeast. Three middle-aged men boarded the 75 bus together — all around 40 years old. One using a cane, old before his time, sat across the aisle from me. His friend took the … Continue reading
I was riding the 75 bus north towards home on 39th avenue in the dark, damp evening, somewhere between Powell and Division, reading a book on the topic of working memory. Working memory is the stuff you try to keep … Continue reading
75 southbound, 7:15 p.m., Monday. Teens running the bus, menacing an older gentlemen with speculation as to how he smells and shouting crude suggestions as to how he might smell better. Gentlemen paying no attention to him. Driver one of … Continue reading