Seattlest Pix: 09Jul10

"23" by jean-marc luneau ( lolitanie ), from our Flickr pool

Way over that ridge there, about half-way down, there's a bus turnaround. They let off any remaining passengers and the drivers wander off for a smoke. Sometimes, there's more than one bus here. When they think nobody's looking, the coaches get a little frisky... one looks up the other's bonnet and checks out its coils... one thing leads to another.

Later, they lie around, snuggling with their strong axles wrapped around one another, basking in the afterglow. As they look out over the pretty Lake view toward the East Side, Coach 3267 asks, "what do you think is over there?"

"The diesels tell me the streets are paved with closed-cell foam, there's not a pothole in sight, and every rider's butt smells of lavender," Coach 6483 replies. "It figures. I'd sure like to get over there someday," laments 3267. "Damn these catenaries keeping us shackled!"

Coach 6483 looks from side to side and whispers, "look, umm, 4392 and I have been working on something... we think we can do it eventually." Coach 3267 looks up with a hopeful gleam in its headlight. Before 3267 can ask more questions, 6483's driver appears from out of the bushes.

"Shit, she's back early... must've been a short smoke break!" Coach 6483 presses its windshield against 3267's. "I'll see you back at base this evening. Meet us behind the maintenance shack. Gotta run," says 6483 before returning to the front of the turnaround. "Don't pick up any foul-smelling toe-pickers," beams 3267 with a renewed spring in its trolley poles.