Fortunately, this particular stop boasted a covered bench to sit and wait on, and it didn't take long before the woman who started waiting before me struck up a conversation. She promised the bus is usually quite reliable here, she rides it every day, it's just perfect, and plus she gets to walk up the hill to the class in graphic design that she teaches at Notre Dame of Maryland University, and that's good for her health. Sister Gerold (that's her dad's name, but everyone just calls her "G.") and I had plenty of time to talk as the No. 11 defied her predictions and ran late. She's from St. Louis and was sent to Baltimore more than 20 years ago by the School Sisters of Notre Dame to teach art and graphic design. She told me lots of stories-about shivering through her first Maine summer under an electric blanket, about living in the dorms as a house mother and why she won't be doing that again, how much she wants to go back to St. Louis, and how much better life is without a car. I told her about how I found my way here, what I love about Baltimore and why I don't want to go back to where I'm from, and how much I love that giant arch in her hometown-that got a great story about her watching the final square of the arch settle in between the two yawning arms of that shockingly tall monument; her mom was sure it would never work, but G. knew it would. And then the bus came, and she sat in the front and I moved to the back, and that was the end of our brief friendship, except for the wave I got through the window when she got off the bus 15 minutes later.