Thursday, May 17, 2018 10:33 PM

The aisle of the bus is barely wide enough to fit the guitar coming through, width-wise, strapped to an oblivious young man's back. I hope the guitar's cloth case is padded. The people whom it hits wish that their heads were padded, too. The radio on the bus is playing Frank Sinatra songs. A pair of bell tones sounds whenever a passenger wants to get off. Their pitch and, once, their timing perfectly matches the first two notes of the "no, no, no" of Sinatra's "Mood Indigo." By the time I leave, the radio is playing an impossibly mannered version of "Sunshine of Your Love." The sound of the traffic and of night creatures outdoors is a relief.