The Bus Stop has been closed for a couple of weeks, the entire block scheduled to be demolished to make way for condominiums.
I don’t know exactly how or why I managed to have an intimate relationship with a bar – I had never previously hung out in drinking establishments on purpose. Let alone planning my trips around the activities of fellow residents.
But it happened, and the single short year I had access to that splendid strange small community was vastly rewarding in every possible way.
What made the place so special? It was just a tiny little slice of real estate without any dominant cultural theme. If anything, those of us who congregated routinely were the strays, caught between other places and groups and people. If we had one trait in common it was, simply, that we did not fit better elsewhere.
Jeffrey dragged me there in the first place. Mark Mitchell took me in and made me stay. Ade, Zack, Michelle, Greg, Susannah, Niki Sugar, and Rodney served me an endless supply of sparkling water, wit, wisdom, and hilarity. If not for the Bus Stop I would never have met the illustrious Laura, and through her Jody, who managed to mysteriously become one of my best friends.
Who else? So many I cannot even begin to list – from genius folks like Kurt, Holly Chernobyl, Xin, Anouk, Sophie, onward through scores of brilliant beautiful people.
Under the auspices of this establishment and these people I learned how to flirt; conduct Ladychat; accept a compliment; and say I love you to someone other than my children. Can you imagine? That is a whole lot to comprehend – especially at age thirty-six.
There was of course scandal, subterfuge, and drama – it was, in fact, a family. In the end various people divorced themselves from the experience but I’ve remained friends with them all – and I do appreciate that I am lucky to know each and every one.
R.I.P The Bus Stop.
