Sometimes I like to blast the walkman tuned to The Bone while the AC Transit bus is soaring over the freeway and suited men wear in their copies of the Wall Street Journal for the shaky ride home. I close my eyes and imagine everyone on the bus rocking out to Warrant or Hendrix or AC/DC: hair flying, miniskirts a plenty, studded leather and strobe lights taking over the aisles of blue plastic seats. When I need it the most, these tactics always prove to make the routine bus ride home a bit more whimsical.