I walked down the wretchedly torn up sidewalk that runs along Main St., towering at 6’1”, 5” above normalcy.  The skeevy cat-callers who sit at that Pizza shop formerly known as Cumps, were luckily nowhere to be seen.  Whether it was the cold air or the early hour that kept their filthy past-middle-age-eyes off of me, I didn’t really care.  I was just glad to Bambi-walk it alone, sans stares whilst I gained the confidence that the shoes ultimately exuded from my legs.

Once I got to the corner of Penn and Main, I was pretty much ready to take on the world.  I crossed with ease, and was able to take my eyes off of the ground in front of me, to fix them, as I habitually do, on the driver of the car that was trying to take my right-of-way.

“Asshole,” I thought to myself and ineffectually channeled with my aviator masked eyes.

I sauntered up to the bus shelter in front of the Sunoco, boppin’ my head a little to the grungy guitars rifs of BRMC.  Spread Your Love, the soundtrack to mine and Litas’ rock’n’roll catwalk to the bus stop.  The boots felt ultra light, not necessarily cushioning my feet, but so light that I could run gracefully if need be.  I could stand still, legs shoulder width apart, without tottering.  And they got stares…oh, they got stares.

The older man sitting in the shelter couldn’t seem to just write me off as some crazy kid, instead continued double-take after double-take, wide-eyes directed downwards, as if these boots were crazier than those webbed toe shoes people wear these days.  I had to force my eyes down Penn, pretending to search for my bus, in an effort to not do the same right back at him.  He wore a sullied, 90’s era Steeler Starter jacket, equally sordid grey sweatpants with elastic around the ankles, and lacked teeth making his already gaunt face look like a punching bag.  One could argue that I too was dressed like a bum, tattered jeans, oversized Goodwill sweater, we were in the same boat, but in such different ways.  It was like a micro Culture Clash, the Lawrenceville crazies are awesome like that.

My bus stop companion eventually got on the 88, and the minutes slid by as the hour reached closer and closer to 10am.  While unacceptable, this kind of lateness is somewhat notoriously linked to the 54C.  Most of the time it’s on-time, or close enough, but today, when I have an actual meeting, and not just some class I can be 5 minutes late for, it decides to not show up.

After cranking my iPod in an effort to relay Prodigy’s Breathe with me, Breathe the pressure to my own lungs, I decided I’m gonna have to make a move.  I began walking as fast as the Litas would let me back down Main to hit the other 54C stop (different bus, don’t ask, it’s a Pittsburgh thing).  After breaking into an unnecessary sweat on the 40 degree morning, I reached the corner of…well that weird very triangular, Pittsburgh intersection where Liberty turns into Main but simultaneously remains Liberty (again, such a Pittsburgh thing).

I looked left to check out oncoming traffic and to discern whether or not I could make a break for it across the three lane intersection, and there it was.   The motherfucking Penn&Main 54C!

“What a fucking asshole.”  I said quite loudly, over the sounds of …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead; “Another Morning Stoner,” oh how I wish I were that kid, as opposed to this obsessive compulsive early bird who was now gonna be uber late for a meeting with a potential grad school recommendation. #fml