One afternoon last week, I was sitting in one of my preferred seats on the S2 bus, facing across the aisle in the back. I was reading Alfred North Whitehead's Process and Reality with a pen in my right hand, and probably jotting more question marks than brackets or underlines. The book makes for very slow reading, for me.
About Irving Street, a man who had been sitting on far back seat stood up to leave. He asked me what I was reading, and I turned the book over so that he could see the cover. He smiled in approval, and held out a fist, which after a second's confusion I bumped with my own.
I have been riding the 16th Street buses regularly for seventeen years now, and in that time probably fewer than ten persons have remarked on anything I was reading. A few have expressed approval, but this is the first who offered a fist bump.
No comments:
Post a Comment