Mucha gente again on the bus back to Eagle Rock tonight. The summer creeps to an end here in L.A., with the promise of more humane weather just around the corner.
The bus ridership seems a bit solemn on this Monday night in late August, and perhaps a bit melancholic. Our summer is gone, and we're not quite sure what we did with it. We had many plans, as always, but it's almost September again and the garden is not planted, our library books are overdue and unread, our friends in other cities remain unvisited, and we still haven't been to the dentist.
The 81 heads lurchingly northeast, into the gathering darkness of dusk. I'm still thinking of all the things I meant to do this summer before the days began to shrink again.
I am thinking now of a post I made from this bus, on the same route, just about a month later than this time last year. It's terrifying sometimes, how the time flies away from us. I always deeply sympathized with Humbert Humbert's desire to fix things in place and in time. I wish there were some refuge from the relentlessly accelerating stream of time.