So, I left the literature class I am teaching at the University at 6.45 and thought, "Oh, if I call a cab, I can catch the 7.15 ferry and be home a whole hour earlier." So, I call the cab. By 7.05 the cab has not shown up and it is not likely I will catch the 7.15 ferry. So, I save the cab fare and hop on the city bus, which happens to come speeding down the road the moment I have this thought. The bus lets me out smack dab in the middle of an enjoyable outdoor concert. I rock out to the music, meander down to the ferry, sighting a guy giving a reading at Longfellow Books flanked by a Star Wars Storm Trooper and a Wookie, lost in his own soundless Star Wars reverie behind the plate glass window, and get to the ferry terminal at 7.45. I settle in to wait for the 8.15. A woman from my neighborhood dressed in a flowery sundress and flat sandals breezes past. "Hey," she shouts over her shoulder, "want a ride to Peaks?" "Sure," I say, popping up from the bench, trotting behind her retreating back towards the warf, my stuffed briefcase unbalancing me. I climb into speed boat and settle down among piles of banana boxes overfilled with groceries for her three children. We speed off across the bay, see the sun set, a huge red orb in the ocean, and arrive on Peaks just a tad after the 7.15, just in time to watch as the Machigonne slowly chugs past us on its tired return to Portland.
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