I miss the T in Boston already. We have buses, but no real subway, here in Seattle. This past weekend, I took the bus concept to the next level (namely, the Greyhound to Portland) due to cost considerations, as well as the romantic notions I attach in my mind to any kind of mass transport.
Romantic? You're thinking: that's nuts. But here are some thoughts on riding the Greyhound versus driving down the I-5 gnawing a piece of gum while rummaging through the backseat for a fresh CD:
-Riding the bus says: the tide comes in, and the tide comes out, and much like the ocean's tide, buses and trains traverse the landscape every day. Passengers surrender to the schedule. It's bigger than them.
-Riding the bus reminds us that, rather than the false glass-and-metal wall that separates a single-car commuter from others around her, there is actually a gauzy veil separating one's fortunes from another person's lot in life.
-Riding the bus is an indication that one can estimate, within 0.1 pairs, how much underwear to bring for a weekend excursion, and pack economically to avoid putting her luggage in the questionable bowel-like storage of a wheezing old bus.
-Riding the bus takes us from one city center to the other, leading us through the well-used public places worn to a shiny patina, with all the grime and excitement and weariness that comes with traveling a great distance with total strangers. Airports are not nearly so convenient or interesting.
Finally, riding the bus means we get to ride way up high in our non-reclining, slightly musty seats. And we can see right down into your cars, America! Right down to the floorboards covered in discarded Big Gulp cups and soiled hoodie sweatshirts! You guys are sort of messy.
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