‘Bet you’d rather be in the mountains.’
It took a second to realize his comment was directed towards me, but I was the only one standing at the bus stop wearing a frame pack, leaning back against the wall of the sky scraper.
‘Oh, yeah, definitely,’ I said, as much to be polite as anything.
‘Better than waiting here with all the addicts.’ He took a swig of his Mt Dew, looking at me sideways. Fortyish, a little grimy.
‘These things happen,’ I replied with a shrug.
‘It’s just not right,’ he sighed, and knelt to tuck the soda bottle into his backpack.
In retrospect, I expect he would rather have been in the mountains himself, than be waiting at a bus stop in downtown Seattle, with the addicts. I was waiting for the bus to the airport, not worried about not being in the mountains because I was about to fly to Alaska, where the mountains would be waiting for me.