It was a dark and rainy night.

Bun Boy, our hero, anticipated a fun evening that did not include operating a vehicle.

Take a taxi? Naw, too easy.

He decided to bus it.

Aw, the adventures one can discover using public transportation in Los Angeles.

It’s better than theater, it’s like performance art!

Bun entered the bus, his fare clutched tight in his sweaty palm. He noticed the person in front of him only had half the fare, muttered “Sorry dude” and took a seat.

There was an elderly man sitting in the middle of three empty seats.

I sat next to him and he did not budge, he continued to stare off in the distance, mumbling to himself.

I blatantly stared at his knee to send a message to move the hell over. Message…not received.

The hippy girl in front of me (I’m assuming that, to her, bathing was a novelty that had worn off) was beebopping to eardrum-busting tunes from a cassette player. She randomly drew pentagrams on the condensation that accumulated on the window.

I pondered the bacteria that now wreck havoc on her fingertip and shuddered.

When the bus stopped, a group of non-english speaking people gathered to exit at the front, a few remain in the back.

“EXIT AT THE FRONT ONLY PEOPLE”

Half the group, like lemmings, slid to the REAR entrance.

“EXIT AT THE FRONT ONLY!”

The remainder of the group slide to the REAR.

I laughed and then pointed up front and everyone followed my finger, like magic.

We finally arrived at Café Stella, a cute, upscale French bistro in Silverlake.

While I waited for my friend, I sipped wine, listened to the rain and eavesdropped on extremely dull conversations.

It was quite the pleasantly Parisian experience.

My short ribs were fat central. Albeit, delicious.

The Buratta Heirloom Tomato salad was the best thing on the menu, amazing combo of flavors.

My night ended in saying “Screw you!” to the bus system and took a taxi home that cost as much as a tank of gas.

I had to pee so bad, I made the taxi stop at the parking lot of a Kmart where I proceeded to pee directly on the taxi’s tires.

I had debated whether or not to just go in my pants and roll down the windows to disguise the smell.

Neither decision I would have been proud of.

3932 W Sunset Blvd
Los Angeles, CA 90029
(323) 666-0265
www.cafestella.com