"You are professional student," he said with admiration, sitting down beside me at the bus stop and gesturing toward the textbook I was reading.
"And why is that, uncle?" I asked. I went out on a limb calling him that, but he seemed dually impressed that I had afforded him the respect.
He stopped to think for a while. The lights changed at the intersection, causing the traffic to back up and a couple of guys in a souped up Honda stopped right in front of us. Their music pulsed through the ground to where we were sitting and he turned to me with a knowing smile. "They are bad students," he said, "but you are professional student and you come out success."
We talked for a while, and I helped him with his English while I tried hard to ignore the fact that his four front teeth were veneered in a white that was substantially brighter than the rest of his teeth. It was kind of like a game: he gave me some jumbled up words and I put them in the correct order, and conjugated everything properly.
Then his bus arrived and I went back to my text.
This summer I have spent an average of 24 hours on the bus each week. That is 14 days of wasted time. I try not to think about it any more. I tried out my new upass yesterday and discovered that the fare machines won't accept them yet and I had to pay the regular adult fare. Bastards. Regardless, it is burning a hole in my pocket, and I can't wait to use and abuse my newfound freedom, all $98 of it. If only I didn't have to work...
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