I went to work early and I stayed late. Too late. Last one in line for the last-bus-of-the-day late. That means that on a bus designed to hold 56 commuters, I was number 58, and I would have to stand.

Okay. “It’s a’right. It’s all good.” After all, I felt okay. I had a happy song stuck in my head (These are a few of my fa-vo-rite things…) courtesy of the salt-n-pepper dred-locked geezer saxophone player on the street corner. I thanked God that I caught a bus. I was grateful I had my bad-ass, orthopedic-insert, open mesh weave super sneakers on. I was grooving on the different view I got from a standing position – I could see the rivers and streams better…

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