The view from Kurt Lindstrom’s bay window at mid-afternoon:
A half block away, on the opposite side of Hemenway Street, people clustered at a bus stop. There were eight of them, four young women, apparently students; one young man in a beatnik-style hooded overshirt and floppy-brimmed leather hat; one man in a business suit; a heavyset Negro woman with a shopping bag from Jordan Marsh; and a thin man in a navy Boston Edison repairman’s uniform. A bus arrived from the right. It filled the view, a wall of sooty fluted steel and parallelogram windows. After a few seconds the air brakes sighed and the bus pulled away, sliding out of the left side of the window frame, and revealing the sidewalk empty again, empty except for the Edison repairman, who stood alone. After a time, he was joined by a woman. She faced left to watch for the next bus. The Edison man stared straight ahead, though, across the street, apparently to this very window. He was Ricky Daley.