A San Diego Gentleman

The 922 bus arrived at Terminal Two's second stop. I climbed aboard - feeling better after a draft of clean air from the Lindbergh's field. It arrived at a bit after nine. The man in front of me stalled the traffic behind me. 
   "Need to go downtown. How much?" 
   "It is seven for a all day Compass pass - including the Compass card." I tapped my own card and asked Mr. Bus Driver a question.
    Does it enable you go on the trolleys too? He nodded and I took my seat just missing the foot of a homeless one. Like most homeless, he used his monthly eighteen dollar pass to pass the night until the San Diego Library opened its doors the next day - probably one from East Village. 
    A sea of Japanese invaded the bus at the second terminal. Each carried their silver suitcases aboard and sat in the upper half of the bus, with me. I pointed my finger to the luggage rack above without any success. 
    I sun bleached gentleman caught my eye; he sat in the back corner. It was more than a tan this man carried over his shoulders. It looked as if he had lived in Palm Sprigs all his life. His darted to the passengers and I dare say must have felt embarrassed. '
    The next time I looked his way he removed a chrome shaving blade and slid it down the right side just below his sideburns. On closer inspection, he wore a weather beaten black blazer with frayed black pants to match. 
    The bus now swung around the airport and the sights of the coast beamed their lights towards me. There was the Hyatt and the Embassy, and the American Plaza buildings up ahead. The gentlemen wiggled out at the Hawthorne stop. The Japanese got the message and finally placed their silver suitcases on the front luggage rack. 
    I tired to sway my thoughts away from the gentleman. I wondered if he had been an executive who had fallen on hard time. I knew he danced outside with the stars. He must have been in his early sixties but looked all of ninety - that is until left the bus. 
   My stop was the American Plaza Station. Along with me, the Asian invaders also got off but looked in a fog to know where to go. The huddled on Kettner Blvd/and Broadway: They remained huddled there when I walked up the steps of my hotel. 
   
   My telephones light lit up my room. No longer did I feel lonely - it must be my daughter. She complained about a tooth that needed some excavation work done and told me about her new suitor. She had been battling T.M.J. with catastrophic tooth problems. 
   "Dad, I told my boy friend to take a hike - just like you told me. He had told me what shoes to wear and how to wear them...No Persian doctor can be with me until he accepts me for me."
   Like I told you daughter a long time ago. Each of us has our own higher power-and those who wish to meddle can go an fiddle somewhere else. Thank you for your valentine's card and continue to study for your driver's license. 
     
                                 Love to you and to all of you who cruise San Diego with me.