This is what happened: Bus stop at 16:49

On Tuesday, right after class, I suddenly found that I had a block of free time in the afternoon before another rehearsal - so I decided to go home and practice. 11 AM found me waiting for a 71 at the corner of Van Ness and Market St.

You can really get to know a city by taking its public transportation because of all the people you meet or see using it. Nextmuni told me the next coach was six minutes in coming, and with each second that passed I wished more and more that I had brought my headphones. At first, it was just three sassy black ladies that joined me, talking about their boyfriends in their powerful, nasally voices. I stared intently at the Bank of America in front of me, trying to tune my ears into whatever music was playing in my head. I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until - Wait, is that Paparazzi? Damn.

Suddenly I noticed a man to my right, also staring intently - at me. He was tall and homeless, everything about him somehow the same shade of grey from living on the streets. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly askew - I made the mistake of making eye contact when I looked at him, and looked away quickly. Please don't talk to me.

"Why aren't you at school?" Can't you read my mind?
"What?"
"I said, why aren't you at school?" He was hardly making an effort to enunciate his words.
"I was."
"You don't have school today?"
"I did have class, I'm done for the day."
A pause. "Huh? What grade are you in?"
"I'm in college."
"Oh. I thought you were a high schooler."
I didn't know what to say - he was probably the first person who's ever guessed I was younger than I am.
"How old are you?" I asked politely.
"Guess."
"30," I said politely.
"Nope. Higher."
"40."
"Nope, higher."
"50."
"Nope, higher."
"There's no way you're 60."
"I'm 52."
A mustard orange F car slowly trundled into the stop. "I never would have guessed."
"What's your name?"
I hesitated. "David."
"Can I shake your hand?" He held out his hand. I wondered when was the last time he had washed it. I shook it anyway.
"What's your name?"
"Have you heard of 'Hark the Herald (harold?*) Angels Sing?'"
I didn't understand. Did he not hear my question? "Sorry, what?"
"Have you heard of, 'Hark, the Herald Angels Sing'." He repeated.
"Oh, yeah."
"My name is Harold."
"Nice to meet you, Harold."
The next bit caught me off guard.
"I'm a messenger from God."
"Oh?"
The streetcar stopped in front of us.
"I'm here to tell you that, the number cause of death for kids your age..." He leaned a little closer. "...is automobile accidents."
I didn't know what to say again.
"Well, that makes sense, we don't have a lot of other reasons to die," I joked, for the first time trying to add to the conversation.

He stared at me blankly, got on the mustard orange F car and it trundled off.