My mind seems always to return to the day when I met Carl. The city bus stopped at a corner to pick up the daily commuters (someone who travels regularly to and from work), a group in which I was included. Boarding the bus, I looked for a place to sit. At last, I found a place near the back. The man in the seat next to the one I was going for was an older man in a grey suit, well-worn dress shoes, and a black hat like I always pictured reporters wearing, but without the little press card. Seated, I began to read the book I had been carrying, which was Jack Kerouac's On the Road. The man in the seat next to me introduced himself by asking if I had read any other book like the one I was holding. When I told him I had, he seemed to become interested, and so did I. He introduced himself as Carl and asked if I liked jazz, and I told him that I didn't really listen to it, and that I liked rock and roll. Waiting for Carl to tell me that I should listen to real music, I was shocked when he just smiled and nodded. He said, "You remind me of myself when I was your age. I remember how my parents hated jazz and how they couldn't see how I could listen to that awful noise. I bet your parents say the same thing, don't they?" Now it was my turn to smile, amused with how right he was. As the bus carried us from one side of the city to the other, Carl and I talked about a lot of different things. The more we talked, the more amazed I became at how much the two of us really had in common, despite the age difference. I haven't seen him since we parted, but the thought of our connection that day rarely leaves my mind. Carl really made me think about how much we can learn from each other if we just break through the blocks between us we've got. I mean, I would have never thought before that day that I could have anything in common with someone so much older than I. But Carl taught me that no matter what we are, we are all just people, and that we should make an extra effort to try and get to know our neighbors and people we see every day, regardless of age, race, religion, sex, or anything else. If we all take the time to attempt to understand each other, I think that the world would be a much better place that we could share together, as humans. The author usually imagined a reporter as one who   _  .
liked jazz music enjoyed talking with others liked reading Jack Kerouac's works usually wore a black hat and press card