Bus Ride Stream of Consciousness

Today, I pulled myself out of bed. I don't like sleeping into the afternoon because I miss the daylight. The days are getting more beautiful here as spring has sprung. They say that argentines "viven entre la rezaca y la responsibilidad." Which is to say they live between a hangover and responsibility. It has more of a ring to it in Spanish.
So I took responsibility, and got on the bus to meet a friend in the botanical gardens. It was a rough, too bright walk to the bus, and I got a seat which was a good thing. The buses here are wonderfully dangerous. It hard to hold your ground if standing. The buses swerve and hastily move through the streets, they barely stop for you to get on: if you are the only one getting on at the stop and it is a green light, you are sure to have to jump swiftly onto the bus to catch your ride. It hardly feels unsafe, the porteños have it down to a science: as they move through the busy streets or the subway, they aptly keep their bodies to themselves, they move with a lot of grace.
After I sat down, a large man, with a graying beard and two sets of eyeglasses sat next to me, whistling. This isn't odd here. Men sing on the streets all the time. Not really to themselves, and it isn't humming, but singing. Like Gene Kelley. Of course it strikes me as a little odd, as my American sensibility tells me that this man is invading my personal space, but I let it go. He continued whistling and we must of passed a church or a nun or something (qué sé yo?) and he crossed himself to the rhythm of his tune. I guess the strangest part was that towards the end, and I wondered if this was directed at me, he began to sing a familiar song. The Star Spangled Banner. How odd. I wondered if he knew I was American and he was jabbing at me, but again I had to catch my American-selfishness or rather, my self-consciousness of being American, and think that this man was probably whistling just to whistle. Just to enjoy the day and pass the bus ride.