Article December 23, 2002 Issue

Angel on the streetcar

By Beverly M. Bartlett

It was just a few days before Christmas. We, the tired horde, squeezed onto the concrete islands of Market Street in my native San Francisco, patiently waiting for our slow-moving streetcars and buses to take us home.

At last, my streetcar came, and I wearily mounted its steps. Although grateful for the ride, I wasn't looking forward to the long trip to my apartment, as I would have to stand the whole way. We were like sardines in an upright moving can. Oh, how I wished for a seat.

Stop after stop came and went. People got off, people got on. Little by little, though, our numbers started to thin out, and there was finally room to breathe again.

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