I am stuck hanging onto a strap in the middle of a conversation at the front of the standing-room-only No. 12. Cells are passed back and forth to show photos; parties are discussed; girlfriends shift liquidly onto and off of laps. The multimedia mash-up goes on for nearly 15 minutes as we roll south through the neon night of Barbur Boulevard.
As we near the Transit Center, the driver turns and says forcefully: "Will the young man in the white sweatshirt please quit using the F-word."
Strangely, I have not heard the F-word, and I am standing right next to the guy, who is sitting to my left. But he doesn't protest; he just slouches in the seat a little more. Apparently the profanity has not registered with me. What is the sound of one F-word clapping if it falls in the forest and nobody's "there" to notice?
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