City Paper is not for tourists
Taking the 92 bus home from Anacostia Tuesday night, I suddenly became aware of a strong foot odor. I looked across the aisle, where my follow passenger, a slim, crazy-haired woman, had removed her shoes. She flailed and wiggled as she tried to hold onto all her items—-shoes, bags full of potato chips—-as the bus bounced and lurched over the asphalt.
Predictably, one bag of plain Utz potato chips went flying. I picked the bag up and handed it to the woman. She gleefully waved it in the air, then handed it back: a gift. I thanked the lady and she responded by beginning to flail her feet in my direction, opening and closing her legs in a wide V. Thankfully, she was wearing jeans.
When a friend’s friend offered me a Bud Light later that night in Dupont Circle, I was thankful to have an appropriate snack.