...what, it asked would become of the stagnant, class-divided society of late Victorian England if allowed to evolve along existing lines into the indefinite future? The Time Machine, like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, is one of the great parables of Western industrial man. - P. A. Carter, The Creation of Tomorrow, 1977
HI READERS, ...there are many activities and events to enjoy downtown and in the surrounding neighborhoods. So get out there... Ice cream socials, outdoor concerts, fairs...5 & 10K races... Love Samantha - Denver News, 5/10 - 6/10/12
After a closing shift at work, I'm on a bus watching the setting sun throw rays of light over newly blooming trees, green again on this May day after being completely bare only a month ago. This scene, and this time of evening which I hardly see anymore, takes me far back in my youth. I hear my past calling me to forget that I am an adult. When I get to my street, I see a guy who usually panhandles across the street from me. This evening, I see him lying on the sidewalk for the first time. A guy comes down the alley, pushing a stroller, to ask him if he's okay. he sits up and lays back down. He acts as though he is drunk.
Throughout the story there has been an implication that persistence, courage, and imagination...have the moral edge over the paternalism, self-rightousness, and stagnation... ...to assert that there is no human free will, and do what one must although the heavens fall, is existentially to affirm it. Or to accept what Freud once said..."In vital matters... The decision should come from the unconscious...the deep inner needs of our nature." Such a perspective transcends socially defined good and evil, and goes beyond rational self-preservation. - Carter
I'm at a train station after work. It's 8:20 PM. A guy in a ponytail, shorts, and a polo shirt wants to know if I have ten cents. Ten cents. What is he going to do with ten cents? A kid comes and stands impatiently waiting for the bus. The guy asks him for ten cents. he doesn't have it, but wants to know if the guy has any weed. The guy says he's on his way to pick some up. The kid wants to know if he will roll him a joint. These characters all get on the bus, including a drunk woman who begs the driver to let her bring her dog on. Sitting in the back of this bus, the kid believes that he has found a soulmate in this drunk woman with a dog on a bus. He tells her tales of his young life. I get off and run to catch a connecting bus home. Some guy at the stop is shining a flashlight at me. (WTF?) As we head down the street, we pass stacks of small metal parking barriers, ready to be put out for the Cinco de Mayo cruise down Federal Boulevard on Saturday. They won't be needed I would discover. Rain and hail would discourage this year's cruise. Three barriers next to a school got tagged with spray paint.
Jack London had forecast something very like a Fascist regime in his trenchant political novel "The Iron Heel" (1908): "...the oligarchs emerged with a new ethics, coherent and definite, sharp and severe as steel, the most absurd and unscientific and at the same time the most potent ever possessed by any tyrant class." - Carter
I'm on a bus to work, waiting to leave the train station. Another driver has come on to ask our driver if she's registered for a raffle. This other driver is wearing shorts, and I can see a tattoo on her right calf of Michael Jackson. On the ride home, as I am about to get off where I live, a guy in slacks and a polo shirt approaches the front door. He opens his mouth to speak to the driver, and what comes out is completely unintelligible. I've never heard anyone so drunk standing up. I go to the back door. Someone mentions that he left a bag on the seat. It appears to be a plastic grocery bag with a single pair of underwear in it. He stumbles down the steps, looks at me and hiccups.
It's Cinco de Mayo. After work, I am in a gas station, behind a guy who is behind a woman with grey hair. She is purchasing scratch tickets. "A crossword. I didn't know you had a crossword. I also want that one." After he gets a couple dollars in gas, I see his truck has a bupersticker which reads "Impeach Obama". What do they call such a residential place, grassroots? Every pickup has a lawnmower in the bed. In a new truck with tinted windows, I can make out that the driver is wearing mirrored teardrop shades. He must be either an albino or a vampire.
The next day, I would get a ride downtown with my sister and mom, but not have the time to go to lunch with them. They are headed to the opera. I am headed to another movie, a documentary I read about earlier this week. It's titled Hit So Hard, and it's about the drummer in the all girl '90s band Hole. I have a half hour to spend at the second day of the Cinco de Mayo celebration downtown. I live on the street where the big Cinco cruise happens every year. I told a guy in my drug store that, this year, I one lonely car cruising the street, as opposed to bumper to bumper traffic. He told me that on Saturday, "They tried." First they got rained on, and then the hail came down. There in the park the following day, it seemed as though multiple signature gatherers were out with their clipboards. I don't remember them last election year. The event was also conspicuously empty. I would pass one concession booth where I would overhear someone say that they were waiting for everyone to get out of church. The first signature gatherer I spotted, I wanted to see what her cause was. Hispanic Republicans. I told her that I was an Oreo. She appeared to know what that was...fast. On the other side of the park was some kid trying to sell me the Dish Network, because it had some kind of NFL package. I had to cut him off. The next day at work, I would hear a rock DJ mention "people still celebrating Cinco de Mayo. White people are celebrating it more."
"...we're pretty passionate about showing the world that Denver is the New Creative Capital. We're excited to showcase the local Denver metro people... We're celebrating a part of Denver's coolness and culture that is central to who we are." - Denver News
In "City of the Corporate Mind" by L. N. Schachuer, (ASI: 24, December 1939), one of the heroes describes the city: "This is the ultimate totalitarian state, the goal toward which Earth's evolution was obviously working... A single corporate existence..." - Carter
...eventually many moms make their way back to work - by choice or necessity. Before you...gulp, "How can I compete?"... ...companies that you want to work for. Take in annual reports, press releases and other industry news daily. When you have young children, it is easy to network. ...talk to other parents...ask if they stay home and work. Ask what they did before they had their baby. ...Linkedin... "It is the only tool that I utilize in recruiting. There are many ways to leverage it..." What SAHMs do in their limited time outside of the home should be done with a mindful eye to the future. As any parent knows, volunteering opportunities at your child's school are endless. Volunteer for the school leadership committee, or nominate yourself to be the PTO Treasurer. You can add these jobs to your resume, as well as provide you with rich networking opportunities. - Colorado Parent, 5/2012
...Jesus...and his apostles had a common fund from which they gave to needy Israelites. (Matthew 26:6-9, John 12:5-9, 13:29) "Sell all the things you have and distribute to poor people..."-Luke 18:22, 23. - The Watchtower, 5/1/2006
...baby boomers are a third of the population, and they own 70 percent of the nation's net worth. In the 1920s, age began to be talked about as negative...that's when advertising took off as an industry, and a consumer society began to replace a kind of truth-oriented society that existed before the 20th century. - Nexus, May/June 2012
Once in a while, I stop into a deathburger before Sunday grocery shopping. This morning, this particular franchise has enlarged photos on the walls. Images of a kitchen table with the sun coming through the window. Along with a salad in a wooden bowl and a wooden salad tossing fork, on a cutting board are six burgers on rolls, piled high with onion and tomato slices and lettuce. Wrapped in paper and placed inside some kind of ornamental holders are heaps of fries. In the top corner is the word 'Gather'. On another wall are photos of five deathburger patrons, all in their early thirties. They are enjoying salads and deathburgers, and sandwich wraps. In the middle are enlarged photos of glasses of iced tea with lemon, glass dishes of ice cream sundaes, glasses of milkshakes topped with whipped cream. None of which are served here in glass dishware or ornamented wire.
A marijuana blood standard for drivers appears headed for approval in Colorado... Sen. Nancy Spence of Centennial said "I'm just sick of the abuse that the state of Colorado has taken from the medical marijuana industry"... The bill's sponsor is Sen. Steve King of Grand Junction. "We are well on our way to a doped-driving epidemic that will match the DUI epidemic that we had 15 and 20 years ago," King argued. Unlike alcohol, THC is fat-soluble, so blood limits can remain above the legal limit even when a user is not stoned.
Whether it is a custodian keeping our buildings clean; a motor vehicle employee helping to process your car registration; or a caseworker providing assistance to those in need... ...committed to open accessible government and accountability back to the people...a strong fiscal conservative and believes that the role of a commissioner is to create a...business-friendly county... - Aurora Sentinel, 5/3-5/9/2012
So the righteous "new earth" that is promised to come is a society of people who have God's approval.(Mark 10:30) - The Watchtower, 5/1/2006
...a questionable or nonexistent political worldview. This "All-American guy" has some bland fucking name like Tyler Chadwick Josherson...looks exactly like Ryan reynolds. Tyler Josherson was a business major, and has a high-paying job right out of college. His favorite TV show is Tosh.0. ...looks exactly like Chris Evans. ...spends his weekend mornings lounging aimlessly in gym shorts, afternoons on the treadmill, and evenings with his buddies in the bars...looks exactly like Jay Hernandez. - Out Front Colorado, 5/2/12
I am in another deathburger the following day. It has three flat screen TVs tuned to news channels, and is in a white neighborhood. What is it, I wonder, that white people are supposed to be monitoring. One middle-aged women gets her order. She's in a brown leather coat with a matching leather purse. I hear her say, "This isn't what I ordered. Fuck. Shit. This isn't what I ordered. I've waited long enough."
Do you believe that humans, who long for peace and happiness, are capable, in themselves, of such gross wickedness against others? What forces drive men...? Have you ever wondered whether some wicked, invisible power is influencing people...? ...an intelligent, unseen person has been controlling both men and nations. It says, "The whole world is lying in the power of the wicked one." These unseen, wicked world rulers are determined to mislead all mankind...by promoting the idea of survival after death, even though...the dead are not conscious. ...crystal-ball gazing, use of Ouija boards, ESP, examining the lines of one's hand (palmistry), and astrology. ..promoting literature, movies, and television programs that feature immoral and unnatural sexual behavior. - Watch Tower Bible and Tract Society of Britain
There was an establishment up the street from my place, a 'hookah lounge". It opened some time during the past five years. Last year, it moved out of its old location. It's become a used car lot. It has the usual car lot flags, along with its old sign with the hookah pipe photo on it.
It's another predawn Saturday at my usual bus stop. A kid with an almost empty fifth of whisky sits down on the bench. He's chasing it with a tall purple can, possibly beer. He begins to tell me about his landscaping job. He tells me that his boss only wants hardworking people, "He says he doesn't want any women" is how his boss puts it. "So I showed him I could do some hard fuckin' work." His cousin showed him how to push a wheelbarrow full of cement. He gets up and demonstrates for me. He tells me that he deserves to "get fucked up. I work from Monday to Saturday. I'm supposed to go to work now, but I can't. I'm fucked up. I'll call in sick. I deserve that to." He said he had a fight with his girlfriend. But he's the breadwinner. His girlfriend "gets to do whatever she wants." He gets on my bus and gets off at the train station. I get on a train and leave him stewing in his boiler maker. I would see him again, a few days later, around noon across the street from where he sat down this morning. He will he hanging out with a group of what look like teenaged guys and older drunks. I'm reminded of another predawn morning twenty years ago, when I met another guy next door to where I lived then who told me that his girlfriend threw him out of the house.
He wanted to be alone with his mind and his fate. We were living on the canyon's terms, with its flood rushing river. ...he refused to leave. The remainder of the week found me wondering at the interior life of an inscrutable man. I once witnessed his standing alone, empty-handed, swaying, staring at the ground. There is no sight lonelier than that of a man again witnessing his own departure - and bearing its hollow emptiness. Though the mind can be our worst enemy, it is at times our only companion. Oblivion with a heartbeat seems a cruel existence. ...cabins crumble and carvings fade, as do our bodies and minds. Succession...makes room for the next surge of songs and stories. Whether writ on a canyon wall, heralded by an empty water bottle, or carried silently in the depths of one's soul. - "Forgetting in a Landscape of Memory", by Jen Jackson, Mountain Gazette 188, May 2012
On Mothers' Day, one of my brothers told me that he has "been doing some research" concerning panhandling. He says not why. What he had to say is that, one may hold a sign on the sidewalk under the law, but not first approach traffic for money. One may ask a pedestrian or bystander for change once, but not repeat the request. It's three days later. There's a middle-aged guy at the train station before sun up. He has sunglasses on. A guy at my usual bus stop a couple of mornings ago was in his rimless shades in the first light before dawn. What don't I know about a workin' man? That the Lord loves one in sunglasses under the moonlight?
Yesterday at a downtown bus stop, the driver recognized someone who he knew had no fare. He asked her where she was headed, and when she answered he told her to get on. She looks to be in her thirties, inebriated, and with a wry smile. She sounds as though she is a character from some TV police drama from 4 decades past. She's talking like some early '70s street character. I don't understand why she sounds as if she is on a TV show which went off the air before she was even born.
This morning, I hop on a bus for a quick ride up the street to another connecting bus. I sit in front of a woman with bright golden blonde hair. She too is wearing shades, long before the first sunbeam will come over the hill. I can hear her smacking her lips as she snacks on something behind me. At my usual bus stop, a couple of middle-aged white guys come from across the street. One is in overalls, and speaks to the other in a whisp of a voice. They both get on, and then get off at a stop within walking distance of where they got on.
Mid-rapid the only time in my life I'm effortlessly in full conscious attendance. On the floor, I see the great Green Room as it is. A life-sized snow globe a zillion feet deep, antique-glass green water falls 360 degrees around. ...waves that are Granite-of-the-Snake.
The southwestern cities that depend on the river , and that most of us depend on directly or indirectly for jobs, complex networks of finance and transportation and communication, a vast menu of entertainment... The work today, a task finally being taken semi-seriously by the cities east of the Divide that have dewatered the streams, is to rebuild the rivers from which they have taken two-thirds of the water... ...from the engineers' sense in the 1950s and before that a river was just a sort of sewer system for excess water on the land, and straightening channels made it function more efficiently. - Mountain Gazette 188, May 2012
On this dark morning, I hop on a bus for the short trip up the street. I sit in front of a girl with bright blonde hair...and sunglasses. I get off at my usual stop, where I watch two middle aged guys come across the street. One wearing overalls and a bandanna on his head talks to the other with a voice which is but a whisper. They both get on the bus, and they get off after a distance which they could have easily walked. My task at work today is to make a delivery to a women's shelter of clothes donated by our customers. The woman who runs the clothing part of the shelter had her photo in a local neighborhood newspaper, at a charity event for the shelter. In the shot, she is with our new mayor. She used to be homeless. He has stated support for a proposed bill banning the use of tents and other camp gear for overnight camping in the downtown area. I ask not what strange bedfellows politics makes. Yet, as I head down the street after making my delivery, I turn a corner and pass in front of the state capitol. Seated in a row, on the front lawn, are Occupy protesters. They have a long placard, upon which is printed a quote from the council person who proposed the bill, Albus Brooks. Tis a bill which a spokesperson for the shelter has spoken against, that the council person of my own neighborhood has criticized for not being sent by the house leader to his committee but to a committee with those who have no experience in matters addressed by it. Yet the mayor and governor have their own favorite bill, which the latter called a special session for debate of.
...the annual County Fair at City Park & the District 8 Old fashioned Ice Cream Social. District 8's Councilman Albus Brooks has enthusiastically agreed to continue the tradition... Participants will see the Denver Municipal Band... Neighbors and guests are encouraged to wear period costumes to take part in the costume contest. - Denver News
Friday. It's been rainy. I left the house today, for the first time this year without a jacket. The summer will be here after this wet spring. It's the last half of May, around 8 PM on an overcast twilight, a cool breeze, and just beautiful at the train station this evening. Low clouds are dropping rain between the city and the Rockies. There's leftover snow on the peaks. If it rains tomorrow, as predicted, there may be more snow in the "high country." Lights are coming on, all the way up into the foothills. One white guy, his forearm covered in tattoos, is telling his friend about his "bonus money" from tomorrow's overtime. A train comes by, with several couples dressed up for some kind of graduation event. I'm sitting next to a girl who asks a guy, "You're a gang banger, aren't you?" He replies, "So?" They and a third guy are teasing each other. One is jumping over the bench. Another is doing an imitation, "I'm on steroids."
The next morning, I'm at my usual bus stop, watching a guy smoking under a street lamp. He's in some kind of uniform. Is he waiting for a ride. When it begins raining, he heads for shelter. Lightning is streaking across the sky, followed by thunder. He comes back through the rain. I suddenly realize, as it approaches 5:30 AM, he has been waiting in front of a deathburger where he works for the place to open. On a connecting bus, a girl in a supermarket uniform is talking to a regular rider. They discuss a boyfriend who "at least has a job...at least has a car." Being aware when "red flags start going up." They mention living in halfway houses, staying sober, getting married, stressing out. Having a life; "What life?"
Ale - ...a brew made with top-performing yeast.
Amber Ale, American Pie Ale - ...dry-hopped versions may be slightly
hazy.
Barley wine - ...malt flavors ranging from bready to biscuity...
Lager - Any beer made by bottom-fermentation.
- Special supplement to The Onion
...I instantly decided to take up smoking and grow a beard. ...it seems like declarative, vacation-y thing to do. After a few days of this, you loose all sense of what you must look like to other people. On the street there is no sense of personal space... ...my hosts offered...endless wine, marijuana... - Out Front Colorado, 5/16/12
Four weekends in a row, I have been to brunch with at least the mom and sister. The sun appears to be up so much earlier. The birds are out. Just a month ago, the trees were bare. The freeze has turned to rain. It feels as though time is in that sped up mode again. Or is it simply that, with service cutbacks to the transit system, which appear out of nowhere, are but a mere veil shrouding nature's clock. It takes an afternoon to go anywhere, do anything with the employ of the transit system. In the process I collect local neighborhood newspapers, and I assemble a multi-class perspective of my city. At the supermarket this morning, I'm in the greeting card isle. A woman approaches me, and in heavily accented English, asks me for help in choosing a card for "a friend who is graduating high school." I ask her if she wants one from the "humorous" section. She replies, "I like funny." I choose one with a pisture of a baby chick on the front. Inside, it reads, "Happy Birthday from one of your peeps." I explain to her that 'peeps', along with chicks, also refers to 'people.'
On the way from brunch, I am downtown, walking past an outdoor patio. Downtown is the territory of the white urban local. Four of them are seated at a table. I hear one on her phone. "Hey hottie. Come down and do some shotties. Are you naughty, hottie? I want to touch your body." On the train to the health food store, back on it to the bus, to the supermarket which usually has the tea I like but not this afternoon. Before brunch, I did my usual weekly grocery shopping, which doesn't include the ancillary excursions. On the bus home, I heard the driver talking to the guy I've seen before, who uses a big three wheeled scooter to put his knee on and push with his other leg. The driver was talking about having trouble getting to work. He must be speaking of another "race." These footraces, information about which paint them as mysterious, elusive, like the schedule changes. I waited an extra half hour for the bus home, with some tea which is not the kind I like. The following day, I saw a notice for the race posted on the train. It was the Kaiser Permanente Colfax Marathon, and any delays it caused were scheduled to end by 2 PM. I must live in a delayed neighborhood.
When this bus appeared, it had a guy in a wheelchair wearing cowboy boots and a bandanna. Across from him was a guy with a panhandling sign on the seat of his walker. Behind him was a girl with her own panhandling sign. All three were quiet, until the girl turns to me to ask when the bus would get to the transfer station. The walker guy immediately answers her. She then wants to know how to get north of downtown. He tells her that the most direct way is by train. She doesn't want to get on any train. An argument ensues. We get to the station, and the wheelchair guy begins complaining that the walker guy is full of shit. It sounds, in the commotion, as though the walker guy is complaining that the wheelchair guy is drunk, and that he's tired of listening to him talk. The wheelchair guy uses a bus ramp to disembark. The girl is off next, and offers the walker guy the ramp. The walker guy says that he doesn't need it. An argument ensues. One of the supervisors at this station, a long-haired blonde lady is slacks and heels, is letting the driver know that, to catch up, she's authorizing him to put the pedal to the metal. That's what the driver behind him will be doing. "He's gonna be movin'." Sitting on the steps outside is the kid who sat down with me a couple mornings ago, and who I saw across the street with some dunks and other kids.
The following morning, he gets on my bus and sits in back. I hear another kid telling him what church to go to, and when the services are, so he can go in and have them pay for a birth certificate. "They will give you a check for $17.85." I get on a train with a couple of security guards. It's about 5 AM. "Slowest part of the day," one says. A third comes up. "Did you hear that they're hiring in Littleton?" I wonder if you need your birth certificate? It's the same time on a following morning, when I am at the bus stop across the street from where I live. There's a white kid with an afro, in what looks like a long black leather coat, jeans and sneakers. He's listening to his I Pod, which could be mistaken for a Walkman. This guy has been transported straight out of the 1980s, into my neighborhood for reasons known only to the time lords. He's as out of place here as a Swedish nudist. Whatever he's listening to, what he's singing sounds like a hymn. It's too early for such conundrums. On the bus, for the short ride up the street, is the blinding blonde, complete with her predawn sunglasses. I get off and cross the street to my usual stop, spying a bike pedal in the gutter. Bus to train, to train station. A pair of middle aged guys are waiting on the platform for their friend. One of the pair sings, "I'm so lonely, nobody loves me." It sounds as though they are discussing which train car they want to ride in. "I tell you one thing, I'm going to be on that last car." "I'm still with yall." The next morning, I'm scheduled for a shift an hour later than usual. Realizing that I have time for breakfast from the deathburger, I enter to see a homeless guy talking to someone else. He says he's from Las Vegas, been here a little over a year, and can't handle these may mornings in the 40s F. At the train station where I get off is a seated individual waiting for the bus, who begins coughng all of the sudden. He's blazin' a reefer. After my workday, I'm waiting for the bus home, watching a guy in a polo shirt and khakis, standing in the sun on the sidewalk. It appears as though this is how he waits for the bus. I realize that he has been waiting for a ride when he begins direting a car into a gas station lot with a hand/arm signal.
There's something different about the little neighborhood street festivals of summer: There's a communal block-party feel that connects people without overwhelming them. ...catering directly to everyone - neighbors, sightseers, dogs, kids on scooters with fairy wings... - Westword, 5/24-30/2012
I'm working another late shift, and am back at the deathburger for breakfast. The guy in line behind me, he keeps shifting around, never standing still. When he orders, it's in a whisper. When my bus comes, I get on with a couple of women who appear to be friends. They both get off at the very next stop, each going the opposite direction. One has a tote bag, on the outside of which is 'reading rocks'. An hour and a half into my shift, I am on the way to a train to another store. At the station, there's a young guy dressed in black, hair down his back, standing and staring into the distance. A young couple is teasing each other, the guy saying, "I'm at peace with it, I'm at peace with it." The long-haired guy has come up to the train platform. Behind him comes another guy wearing black. His neck is green with ink, coming part way up the right side of his face. When I get on the train, I'm sitting across from a guy with purple shoes reading his bible. These images in front of me are as though memories from some previous drunken evening. I will spend the next five hours in front of customers. The sky is broken clouds. It's warm in the sun, cold when it disappears, and there is high wind. It's as some kind of tale from Chaucer. When I come out of work, it's seven PM on a beautiful cloudless late afternoon. The sun is coming through newly sprouted foliage. Couples are on bicycles. This afternoon, in this neighborhood, reminds me of many an evening of my youth.
The bus takes me on a boulevard I lived on for fifteen years. On the bus comes a white guy in a Raiders jacket with a small pack of beer. At the train station, I hold the elevator door for a couple, the father waves and smiles. Waves and smiles? On the train is a kid with a nude female tattoo on his leg and a fish on his forearm. When we get to where I catch my bus home, the happiness and innocuous tattoos give way with alacrity. A kid in jeans and a denim jacket, and hair like some kind of late '60s actor, is unsteadily pacing back and forth along the train station platform. Up and down, back and forth. Staring at the ground, expressionless. A girl asks him for a light. He ignores her. He's staring at his phone from a distance of a couple of inches. The next morning, I see what I think is fog in the streetlight. From across the street at my usual bus stop, an old guy is pulling the handle of what appears to be a small platform on castors. He comes across at the light and continues out of sight. He comes back a few minutes later, and goes back from the direction from which he emerged, making castor noise all the way. He pauses mid way in the crosswalk to pick something up. 1) Who is pulling 2) what 3) at 5 AM? On the Saturday before Memorial Day? I take the bus to a train. Where I get off, a couple of young guys are seated on a bench. They appear as though they are headed to work. One has a small cooler. He asks me if I believe that the transit system security should be allowed to carry firearms. I didn't mention to him that they already do. When I get to my bus stop below the train platform, I can see a couple of standing people up top. Over a third person seated between them, they are arguing, I presume, about the same thing. The seated person appears still, and quiet. One of the standing guys points at the other one. When a train shows up, the arguing guys get on, and the place reverts to the sound of birds hunting for worms and traffic on the other side of the train tracks. As the sun comes up, I realize that what I thought was fog is smoke from fires from southern New Mexico.
On a bus home after work, I'm sitting in front of a couple of women who sound as though they have issues in the mental department. One of them is unintelligibly audible. The other, in a deathburger uniform, is asking her if she has faith in herself. She keeps asking the silent one, "who has been talking about me?" She asks her if she wants some food. The gabby one then gets up and sits somewhere else. They both get off the bus together. When I get on the train, a young couple comes and sits across from me. It sounds like a blind date. He's asking her what she does for a living. She's a bartender. She's wearing a knit tanktop of the state flag. They surely are young enough to be my children.
It's about the light. ...light does things to glass, defining every fold... ...experts said Denver couldn't support a glass gallery. It's another world, one...customers rely on for access and insight. ...inspired gift items, appointments for the home, and one of the city;s best selections of glass jewelry. ..."the light and the glass - that inter-mix - it's just breathtaking here, and we have seen a lot of glass galleries. ...there really isn't anything we can't get right here." ...people are warm, easy to be around... "This is one place in Denver on a level with major art centers, bigger cities. ...they adopt you. It's a family." - Cherry Creek Now, Spring 2012
Memorial Day was beautiful indeed. I found myself with my sister in a white neighborhood, on the patio of a local ice cream shop where she first bought me a cone in the summer of 1985. This afternoon, the temperature is 74F with a cloudless sky. Unbelievable. We are surrounded by tall, tall homes and green, green foliage. A guy comes by in a Green Lantern T-shirt, flanked by a fat girl in a baby blue satin dress. He is taking a photo of a second girl in a shorter dress, smelling a rose bush. She asks to borrow my sister's cone for a photograph, telling us that they are on a "fairy tale scavenger hunt." Strange magic; fairy tale aspiration. Later that afternoon, I took a lady to dinner. She works and lives in my neighborhood. I've known her perhaps a year. I let her talk as we ate. She told me of the relationship between employee and business franchise. We spoke of owners who appear not to know anything about their businesses. She mentioned the dangers of working the overnight, or "third shift", at a gas station. Guys come in and grab milk out of the case, or jump the counter to grab a carton of cigarettes, before running out. Is it they who take advantage of a business, or consumer products which dictate their will (and perhaps business which takes advantage of them)? She tells me of a kid she used to see come in and steal, and yet say hi to her. She would see him when everyone else was in school. She hadn't seen him in a while when, one day, he came in with a girl and a one year old. He was so tall, she didn't recognize him. She would next see him at Wendy's, surprised that he had a job. She thought he only ran around the streets. He told her that the girl was in jail, and social services took the baby. My date expressed concern for his wife. He told her, "She's not my wife." She attempted to point out the significance of his child's mother. She also told me about her parents who were teachers, her working food service at the high school down the street, where the president came to speak last autumn. She mentioned the pregnant freshman girls, the kids who appeared as though "their parents have no idea what they do." She herself talked about her four sisters, married at 15. About learning English in Mexico, and coming here to discover that she didn't know the language at all.
It's the middle of the week. Five AM. A very slow-moving pair is meandering up the sidewalk. As they pass in front of the medical marijuana dispensary, one of them heads for the front door. What's the story here? The one near the door takes the lid off an outdoor ashtray to look for usable butts. The other is texting while waiting. The one rejoins the other as they drift on their way. At the train station where I get off the train, I see a middle aged couple headed for another bus. The lady has her coat on against the chill. The guy has his sunglasses on as the sun just barely has come up. He's in a tank top and shorts, and he swaggers along with her as he finishes his butt before tossing it.
I'm on a train home, sitting across from a guy in a cap which reads 'Seal Team'. He appears to be well beyond 32 years of age, and as if he has never come anywhere near the 100 extra lbs he would have needed on any seal team. Another guy next to me, a young guy, is nervously flipping page by page, quickly through a small apartment guide. His eyes are wild and he's smiling. He's tripping on whatever he sees. Tiny pictures of homes? On a connecting bus home, a quiet young woman gets on wearing a beach towel as a skirt. When she gets off, the guy sitting next to me in a Vietnam veteran cap says to a guy with him, "Did you see that? She's wearing a damn towel."
The following day at the train station, the approaching sunrise is casting an orange glow on the Rockies. A pair of teenagers are at a bench. They appear alone, like rookies in a society which they somehow have just entered. They are both staring forlornly in the direction of the mountains, as though they are waiting for someone to show up who will tell them what they are meant to do with their lives.
