i was taking the bus down fifth avenue, along the park. that's a big tourist route, with people going from museum to museum. generally, take 4 parts foreign tourist and 1 part old upper east side lady, and there you have the fifth ave bus ridership.

the bus stopped, and a mom got up with her three-year-old little girl. before heading for the door, the little girl broke away from mom and came over to stand in front of me. right in front of me, smiling. "bye bye," she said and waved bye bye at me. just me. it made me feel good.

have i ever told you how stupid i think wired magazine sounds? or WiReD, i guess they say. the entire thing is written in the tone of a bitchy teenager. what does that editor look like?--the one whose job it is to make all the articles sound like a seventeen-year-old who's trying to explain blade runner to you. i mean, god.

but for all the passive-aggressive bitchiness, WiReD sure has a lot of serotonin in its system. it is optimistic about absolutely everything. they could tell you, "within ten years, most americans won't have legs." you might start worrying. feeling wistful for your legs and walking and all. but then, paragraph two: "you should stop worrying because we won't need legs, because BiotroniX Corporation is way out in front of molecular composite nanoleg technology. their office is a ramshackle affair in a low-lying office park in santa palo del rio camino real, california. and boy do they have some characters working there..."

have you ever read an ad in WiReD and then realized after six pages that it's an article? yes, me too.

there is a girl who works in a different engineering department, whom i see at least every couple days, and have for years. she lives in astoria, someplace by the bohemian hall, and we both take the M60 to work, exactly the same way. but, there are multiple choices for how to get from the bus to mudd--my building--so we're never together or anything. but i know her. i'm sure she knows me too. she always seems really stern, but once i saw her laughing and carrying on with an acquaintance of mine, which seemed out of character. but really, her staring out the window on the bus in the morning is probably the actual out of character part.

so the other day, we were both there waiting on the bus, and two buses came, and we clearly both made the logical choice of getting on the second one when it became apparent a wheelchair was going to board the first. i don't know about this part, but we were probably also both annoyed when the wheelchair, after much time and thought, decided rather to board the second one.

it was move-in day here, the beginning of the semester, and little students and rich parents were everywhere, and 120th street was blocked off for a low-class street fair. when this happens, it is a great occasion, (imagine you're josh) because: the M60 stops at 120th and amsterdam. at mudd. my building. where i wish it stopped, but doesn't. normally it goes to 119th and broadway, which feels like a long walk in the morning when you're tired. but on street fair days, it takes me right where i need to go.

so, this girl and i, we both get off, and walk to mudd. it feels like i'm stalking her, but i'm just walking to work. but she's the bus girl, whom i've never met, but have known literally for many years. we come in mudd, and she wordlessly holds the door for me. then the second door. we wait on the elevator. so then we're in the elevator, and she pushes 9 and i push 10, and we've come all this way from astoria boulevard, and we're looking at the numbers as the elevator goes up.

do you screw up the strangers on the bus relationship, which can only go downhill upon familiarity? do you do it? i continued to look at the numbers, and i said:

"do you think it's pathetic? that the greatest thing that can happen to me all day is that the bus stops at 120th and amsterdam? just that has to happen, and the rest of the day is perfect?"

and she said, "i know, i know." and she laughed and laughed and laughed.

and that was that. she got off.