He embarks at the last (or first) stop on the line, near Baker Beach.  Weighed down by a large, frayed knapsack, he must drag his thin body up the steps.  When he reaches the landing, he twists sideways to make room for the heavy bags that he carries in both hands.  A mismatched collection of cloth, plastic and paper, the sacks rattle and bang with his movements.   

The man steadies himself on a handrail and sets down the contents of his right hand.  He searches his front pants pocket to pull out a handful of pennies, nickles and dimes.  The driver, tapping  her fingers on the steering wheel, glares as he puts coin after coin in the slot. The man carefully places the few remaining cents back into his pocket, then picks up each bag individually.  He arranges their handles so as to prevent them from digging into his skin. Then he rights himself.

The man's eyes scans the six passengers who boarded before him.  All sit at the front, belying their tourist status by wearing shorts despite the foggy summer afternoon.  Moving onward, his gaze lands on a three-seat bench at the very back. He stakes out his territory, and starts towards it.   

As the man nears his fellow passengers, they wrinkle their noses.  A pungent concoction of dried sweat and musty unwashed clothes tinged with the acidity of urine, his odor has weight and heft.  It is intensified  by the scent of his bundles, which hint of rich earth, rotting leaves, and the woods abutting the nearby Seacliff neighborhood.

Suddenly, the bus lurches.  Losing balance, the man drops the parcels in his left hand and falls against a plump, middle-aged woman.  As the vehicle comes to an abrupt stop, the woman’s equally plump and middle-aged companion uses the momentum to protectively push the man away.  The man rights himself, bracing his body against the rail that runs along the top of the couple’s seat.  He falls again.  As he gets up a second time, his matted brown dreadlocks leave two blades of dried grass against the woman’s heaving bosom. 

With all eyes on him, the man turns to glare at the driver.   Quickly, he bends down to reclaim the spilled contents of his sacks – a soggy convenience store sandwich, a completed Rubik’s Cube with a missing square, a tattered paperback version of Ovid’s “Metamorphosis.”  Pulling himself together, he looks straight ahead and continues towards his destination.   His fellow passengers look away from him as he walks by.  Their shoulders tense as he nears, then relax as it  it becomes clear that he will be sitting further down.   

The man's movements slow once he reaches his three-person bench. He unwraps the handles wound around his hands and arranges the bags artfully on the two seats towards the furthest end.  Then he carefully takes off his knapsack, so as not to untie any of the ropes that are holding it together.  Sitting in the empty seat nearest the door, he places the pack between his legs. 

As the bus starts up again, his craggy, rigid features soften.  He grins slightly as he looks at his belongings, positioned so as to take up the whole bench. As the bus fills, people move towards the seats on which the bags rest, then back off once they get a whiff.

A group of teenage boys boards through the back door and almost breaks this pattern.  Sporting gym bags, backpacks and a cacophony of sound, they move into the man's space.  Using hand signals, the leader of the group dares another member to take one of the man’s seats.  As the challenged boy approaches, the man’s left arm shoots out to land over the middle of his pile.  His hand, framed by soiled denim cuffs and the dirty edge of a wrinkled grey jacket, forms a fist around some of the bag handles.  His eyes narrow and he locks the boy's gaze.  The boy backs off, pinching his nose and firing off a series of face-saving invectives as he turns away. 

Settling back, the man relaxes his grip on his belongings.  He manages to stay in this state through two stops. Then, she arrives.  Impeccably dressed in a perfectly pressed, worsted wool olive suit, she carries a black leather briefcase, a large olive tote and a tired expression.  Young and fit, she moves with grace and confidence.  Stepping into the man’s carefully arranged space, she commands, “Move your bags.  I want to sit.”  

The man doesn't move. A minute passes, after which she softly insists, “Sir, you have an empty seat.  I wish to sit." Impervious to the odors, she begins to move the man’s parcels with her free hand.  He quickly scooches the tail end of his property towards himself.  She sits before he has entirely emptied the seat.  Her briefcase lands  on one of the man’s bags, making a crunching noise as it hits. 

The man narrows his eyes with the same intensity that scared off the teens.  However, instead of adjusting her briefcase, the woman takes a large hardback out of her tote, opens it to a marked page and begins to read. The man adjusts the bags closest to her, releasing a small whirlwind of odors. She continues to move her pupils back and forth over the text.  He leans into her, twisting his head to make out the book’s title, “The Law of Success In Sixteen Lessons by Napoleon Hill (Complete, Unabridged).”  As he does so, a coil of his unwashed hair grazes her knee.  She adjusts her skirt while keeping her gaze glued to the pages in front of her. 

The man sits back, but continues to stare at the woman so intently that he almost misses his stop.  When he recognizes where he is, he rises quickly, puts his backpack on lopsidedly and grabs his bags, jerking the last one from underneath the woman’s briefcase.  The surrounding passengers move away as he rushes to the door.  Even now, the woman pays no notice. 

“Back door,” he cries out!  His shouted words echo up the line of bus passengers, until the door finally reopens.  Adjusting his burdens and standing tall, he climbs down the steps and walks off.  The edges of his lips curl up in a slight smile as people in the surrounding crowd wrinkle their noses and part the way for him.

EDITED very slightly at 6:23 PM PDT in order to correct some typos and some poor word choices. The content remains the same.