A mostly empty bus pulls up to a stop in Pioneer Square. Only one person gets on, a youngish guy who makes a point of catching the eyes of everyone he can get to look up. Written on his shirt with a sharpie is, "Youth = Good."
I am on the bus, one of the reasons it's only mostly empty. My legs feel overcooked--I've just spent the last hour remembering why exactly it is that ballet was never a passion of mine. I believe that it's a great idea to rediscover the things that set you on fire as a child, but I think it's also important to reaffirm that you still don't like some of the things you didn't like then. (That's probably actually a lie, but I'm still trying to justify my evening and so it works for the moment.) I feel loose and limp and rubbery and taller than my 5 feet. I have my headphones in and I am, you know, rocking out--turned to 11 and all of that.
I look up and catch the eye of the boy who has just gotten on. His t-shirt says "Youth = Good.)
For the moment, I agree completely.
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