She keeps telling me that the guy who chased her really shook her up. I can see the nervous energy. She tells me that she has learned her lesson about sneaking out of her house. I like this kid's style. On the streets of my neighborhood, the expression for redemption can sound as if it's just another hustle. But this young kid is not another creeper. And I believe that she is convinced that neither am I.
That afternoon, I am on my way to a service for the daughter of a coworker. Her oldest daughter was 24 years old and she committed suicide. To say that it's been a tough week for her is an understatement. Half of the way there, a couple of guys get on. The one doing the talking is a young guy with short, blonde, spiky hair and sunglasses with fashionable white frames. He relates to the other that, while on parole, he couldn't stand his halfway house. Si he "went out and got high as a kite. I came back and I told them that I wasn't going to finish my parole there. I refused to take a UA because I didn't want to drop a hot UA." So they sent him to the El Paso County jail. "And let me tell you something about the El Paso County jail..." (What's that, 'you don't want to go t the El Paso County jail?') "...you don't want to go to the El Paso County jail." He tells the other guy that he finished 45 days in a halfway house a couple hours south of here. He was employed for fourteen months until he lost his job. He had no trouble while he was employed, but since then, he's been in and out of county jail. I step off the bus to purchase a rose, and I walk a couple blocks to the Funeria Latina. I go inside and put my rose next to a bouquet on a small table next to the casket. There's a tiny young woman inside, motionless. I hug her mom and I tell her in Spanish that I can't stay, but that everyone from work will be here soon.
...a graffiti vandal...confessed to 118 and more acts of vandalism against our neighborhoods. ...also gave scientific information on other vandals... There will be a concentrated effort...in ticketing speeders... They will also be looking for pedestrians crossing...illegally... DPD is also working with the new Walmart...on...anticipated shoplifting at the store. The manager of this new Walmart comes from another Walmart, which experienced 900 cases of shoplifting in the first year of operation. ...the juvenile probation department mentioned the burden that juvenile graffiti criminals have in repaying restitution fines... The group was reminded to be careful of people coming to the door asking for help, and robbing their homes, etc. - Nextdoor Westwood, 4/2/2014
The next morning, I am at the bus stop across the street from where I live an hour or so later than usual. With me are a middle aged guy and a younger one. Wet Spring snow has been falling all night and continues to come down. The two are bantering back and forth about the bane of the working man. It takes forty dollars to park downtown. If it wasn't snowing, they'd both be on their bicycles. The commuter train didn't used to let you bring your bike on board, so as far as your bike, "you had to ride the motherfucker all the way to work." Any place they work now, they get less than 32 hours per week, so that the company they work for isn't required to pay health insurance. And the temp places...well, don't even get them started. When we get up the street, I get off and head over to the deathburger. It's only an hour later than I am usually in here, but there are one or two more homeless here by now. You can spot them, bot by unwashed skin or clothes. Not at all. I see one guy in a clean coat and shoes. But he is sitting at the table with no food. He is staring out the window at the falling snow. He is looking at it with an expression; it's as if he may just as well be here as any place else. He looks through the glass toward no future at all.
This badass...bartender will first surprise you with her shock of pink hair. One of the most frequently spotted drag queens in Denver...always evokes a laugh. ...Denver's own gay cowboy bar... Featuring two dance floors - one pop, one country... ...with an atmosphere prime for Denver's drag queens and queen wannabes. PLACE TO GET CRAZY ...it's Thursday's underwear night... - Out Front, 4/2/2014
Today was a short day at work. I'm having a late lunch at a delicious Italian lace just down the street from work. A middle aged couple are sitting with another middle aged guy, in the booth in front of me. They went somewhere, Vegas? They did some gambling and the husband was comped for something. He mentions friends from Sweden who couldn't make it. There is some kind of dessert they enjoyed so much, they had it every night. "Every night, every night..." I am unable to get ice for my soda because the machine is empty. I see an employee come out with a huge basin of ice to refill the dispenser. The other guy is showing the couple video on his phone, of someone's infant. I can hear adults applauding and baby noises. "Hey look he stuck his arm in something," the husband says. "Look at him now!" The wife mentions something about declaring bankruptcy to get a divorce. I hear more baby sounds followed closely by laughter. The guy with the phone tells the couple that his phone can hold 558 pictures. "Unless I move them to I-File," so his wife tells him. "Then they go somewhere else."
"Go to an Apple store," the husband tells him. "Or Verizon, go to Verizon." The next morning, I am back at the deathburger at 5 am, Mr. Foot-long Goatee is at the counter. The woman behind the counter asks us to giver her a minute. He replies, "I got 24 hours." The only people within earshot of his joke are a young couple who appear to be Chinese. If they get it, they don't laugh. Close to twelve hours later, I step off the bus after work, back in my own neighborhood again. Milling around is a guy with short salt and pepper hair, mirrored sunglasses, baggy pants such as a teenager would wear, and a cane. He's milling around back and forth. He wants to know if I have a quarter. He recognizes someone he knows behind the bus shelter. She asks him how he is doing. He tells her that he was hit by a car. "I got a pin in my hip, a pin in my femur, a pin in my jaw..." The next morning is another Saturday, at 5 am. At the us stop across the street from where I live is a guy who is talking to himself, berating an imaginary person as if they are there in front of him. "You pussy ass piece of shit. I'm gonna kick your ass." He goes on to say something about not listening to your father. I catch the bus up the street and am in the deathburger, where Mr. Footlong Goatee wanders up to the counter. He jokes with an employee who knows him. I'm mad at you," Goatee says, "'cause you fuckin' let this guy sit in here a three o' clock." Over the speakers plays "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing."
...Wax Wednesdays - when you can take $5 off the per-gram price of hash - and free-joint Fridays. ...free THC suckers... ...some edibles companies have been busted in recent months for selling pot-infused foods with little to no pot in them... ...you've probably...walked out the door and left your bag of herb sitting on the counter next to a freshly poured travel cup of coffee... Westword, Best of Denver 2014
Another week begins at 5 am. At the deathburger are two soda machines. Mr. Footlong Goatee and I each use one, but he is unable to make his work. For the first time ever, he speaks to me. "How come yours comes out right and mine doesn't?" Looking at him, I discover that he has no teeth. Over the speakers plays, "Thunder only happens when it's raining..." I take the bus to the train, to another bus. When I get on, a little guy with white hair and a white beard in one of the front seats launches out of it. He makes the sign of the cross, holds his right arm in the air, and walks off the bus quietly singing. The next morning, back at the deathburger, Mr. Goatee comes in right after me. He tells a kid behind the counter that he was several blocks away, by a liquor store, where he "saw a cop." The following morning, I am at the train station around 5:30. Once in a while, among the forlorn-looking masses going to their grocery or Goodwill or construction jobs, there is someone who appears out of place. Today, it's a tall guy in a white cardigan, beige slacks, and loafers, holding a binder in his left arm. He chooses to look at me from across the track and say, "It might be cold now but this afternoon it's going to 78." Great. I work in a dry cleaning plant.
A couple of days later is another Saturday. I am on a bus to the train station. We pass a small handful of shops. On the sidewalk in front are a couple of guys curled up asleep. After work, I've come back up the very same street. At the corner is my connecting bus, which is parked. The passengers are waiting for another to come along. When it does, we all get on. The driver of this bus asks the first driver what happened. He answers that, a passenger came on the bus and asked the driver to call an ambulance. We head off on the new bus, and coming the other direction is a fire truck.
Sunday. I am coming back from seeing a movie. I'm on a bus with a woman who asks me the time. A couple of drunks are in a seat next to me. One has his arm around the other, gently shaking him, asking, "Hey, are you awake? Are you awake?" We pass a cathedral, and the woman who asked me the time crosses herself.
Monday. 5 am. Deathburger. Mr. Footlong Goatee is coming out of the men's room. He's stretching his arms. He does his thing, which is look at every table for trash, throw away any he finds, and look in the trash for anything he may want. Over the speakers comes "Heaven knows, it's not the way it should be..." A couple of mornings later, I am there again, but he's not. I ask a lady behind the counter where he is, and she replies that he doesn't come in on Wednesdays. His day off? I take the bus to the train, to wait for a connecting bus. When it shows up, I see something which I can't remember the last time I've seen. It's a Caucasian guy with Eurospecs in what is perhaps a Goretex zippered sweater. He's in a hurry to catch a train with two boxes of doughnuts in his hands.
Left at the Station
A Civil Rights Perspective on Transit Justice in the Front Range, January 2014
...data was collected including 221...surveys...from the Westwood neighborhood. Of data from multiple neighborhoods, (58.1%) reported an annual household income under $20,000. ...(72%) of residents stated that they could not afford monthly passes. 27.1% of those residents from Westwood. ...directly impacted women and people of color. ...discounts only benefit those able to pay for a lump sum of passes at once... Multiple families reported reported...RTD security cited their child, but because of a language barrier for parents, parents unable to get off work...a bench warrant and eventual arrest of the child.
Community Focus: Westwood
The neighborhood is 81% Latina/o. 35% of Westwood residents live below the poverty line... ...the...neighborhood has...lack of safe sidewalks, crosswalks...the large number of shift and service workers. ...a mother of two young children stated that her children had to miss school...to prioritize - groceries instead of bus fares. ...transit deserts such as the Westwood neighborhood.
The basic idea of Marxism on...the state. The state is the product...of the "irreconcilability" of class antagonisms. ...the royal power, resting upon...the aristocrats and bishops, is opposed by the bourgeoisie and the squirearchy. ..the conditions...now created, for the single rule of the Presbyterian bourgeoisie. But before the royal power can be broken, the parliamentary array has converted itself into an independent political force. It has concentrated in its ranks...the craftsmen and farmers. This army powerfully interferes in the social life...as a Praetorian Guard, and as...a new class opposing...the rich bourgeoisie. - Howe
...noticed twice now a group (6-8) of teenage [sic] males on bikes others walking in alley checking out closely the back of properties and vehicles not far from where I live. - posted to Facebook, 4/11/2014
After work, I am back at the very same train station where I saw the doughnut guy. It's now just about eleven hours later. I get on a bus and sit across from a guy in a backwards baseball cap, work boots, and a rosary around his neck. He has with him what appears to be a CD player that plugs into the wall. For the next few days, I am taking antibiotics in preparation for a root canal. I open the bottle, and the guy says to me, "Pardon me sir, may I have one too."
On October 2012, a state investigator discovered multile illegal, afterhours sales of medical marijuana at the medical marijuana place across the street from my usual bus stop. The place has a recent sign posted: "closed for remodelling." ...last week...state regulators moved to shut down the business, sending notices of denial...also were ordered not to sell or transfer marijuana... The businesses have 60 days to request a hearing... ...VIP has not sought a court order that would allow it to remain open. VIP owners have expressed a willingness to get out of the business... - Denver Post posted to Facebook, 4/15/2014
Back in 1984...right across the street. What is now a liquor store used to be a Skippers' Seafood. - comment on post
This explains why that liquor store has what appears to be a dock surrounding the building.
The stink from the marijuana grow facilities along the Platte (River, to the north of here) waft up into the neighborhood next to mine on occasion - reminds me of a humungous skunk that got ticked off! - Nextdoor Westwood, 4/17/2014
I'm on a bus home after work, at a train station under the disarray of construction and relocated bus gates. A young woman in shorts and holding a blanket around her shoulders approaches me on my way to catch a bus home. She asks me which direction, east or west, her street is. When we get on the bus, a supervisor is instructing a driver. At first I think I smell month-old body odor. Then I think I smell marijuana. The supervisor tells someone in back that their marijuana needs to be sealed tight enough that it can not be smelled. I hear a kid tell her that "It's okay." (Just mellow out, right?) After a minute or two of helping the driver navigate a parking lot which has become a new part of our route, the supervisor again tells the kid that the odor is too strong, telling him that the smell of marijuana gives her "a headache right away." I'm not sure that he is sympathetic. He tells the her that he just got his medical card, and that he's preparing for 4/20. I'm not sure how sympathetic she is. She tells him that "people don't want to smell it. It gives them stomachaches and headaches." Hey, I know we aren't teenagers anymore, but we ain't exactly over the hill. The girl in the blanket comes up from the back and sits in front of me. With her in a shopping bag, she has a small dog. Perhaps it was getting a stomachache from the pot odor. The kid with the weed comes to sit in front of her. He appears to think that he is hot shit. He tells her that his name is "Blaze." What he lacks in originality he makes up for in...nothing at all. Rather than with an appearance of a stoner or a gangsta, he's exceptionally ordinary-looking. A woman two seats behind me complains to the supervisor that a middle-aged guy between us is spitting on the floor. When she comes to investigate, Blaze says, "He's an old man. Leave him alone."
It's been an interesting weekend. On Good Friday, I was downtown purchasing the next month's bus pass. I stopped into a deathburger there, when the lunch rush was at its peak. I stepped past a big dog on the floor, with a silver water dish. Six registers were going. An employee with a broom came to the front of the line and began directing customers toward open registers, including me. I stood inches away in front of one cashier, who ignored me as she took five customers' orders. I wanted to see how long she would go on ignoring me. I decided that she thought I had already ordered. I was caught in some kind of trap. I asked to speak to the manager, who was behind one of the registers. I told him the situation. He told me twice, "You didn't tell her you were ready to order." No, it didn't occur to me. A couple of days later, on Easter, I was downtown again for the nation's first legal 4/20 rally, or something like that. I was back at the same deathburger, ordering lunch from the same cashier. This time, she saw me. This time, I didn't see the manager.
The following morning, I catch a bus for the short ride up the street. The usually crowded bus, full of people on their way to work, is virtually empty. Was everyone partying too hard on Easter, or are they sound asleep after celebrating 4/20? I head to the deathburger. I see what appears to be a young guy and his girlfriend, outside the place. Mr. Footlong Goatee is inside, gesturing for them to come inside. I will put real money down that he has never seen them before. They do not appear to see him. He looks like a Mongolian truck driver. When the pair come inside, I realize that they are one guy with a BMX bike, and another guy with a skateboard and hair past his shoulders.
You know, folks. A few short yards from where I live, there is a middle school... Kepner Middle school...will remain in its current state for the 2014-2015 school year. ...four new schools are applying to take over...due to the school's continued poor performance on tests and the falling stature of the school in the area. "Kepner has not been meeting the needs of...the community..." said...chief officer of family and community engagement for DPS." A DPS spokeswoman...also noted that 69 percent of incoming sixth-graders are "chosing" out of Kepner... "The community was telling us something." Parents serving on the committee to pick new schools said the time is right... ...the school...still has issues with bullying, fights and lack of leadership. - Denver Post posted to Facebook 4/22
One person, who makes it sound as if he was at a meeting about this, commented on the post: It was almost crazy to watch people talk to you like politicians doing verbal gymnastics...to win your vote... I liken it to a nuclear meltdown...toxic as hell and you'll never know the truth until things have cooled off for 1000 years. For my blog's sake, I hope not. But never mind the goddamned politicians. The kids can;t tell us what goes on there?
I'm on a train to the next station. I'm sitting next to a couple of guys who sound as if they both drive for a living. One is talking about being tracked digitally by the company in his vehicle. He mentions another employee who was tracked to a location where he decided to eat lunch, and was told "You can't take lunch like this." At the station, I grab a bus for the long haul to work. After a little ways, the driver announces, "Hey man, this is Florida." (As in Florida Avenue.) In both seats in front of me, on each side, is a guy asleep. One of them hears the driver, and he reaches over to wake the other guy before he goes back to sleep.
...the Turkish city of Antakya... Anyone here who is not a spy or a soldier is a deal-maker. The place has has become a sprawling bazaar dedicated to buying guns, loyalties, and occasionally journalists. Polish intelligence agents, al-Qaeda recruiters, Scandinavian hostage negotiators, American medics, Canadian security professionals, and fitfully employed freelance journalists...sometimes in the same hotel. - Vanity Fair, May 2014
If any street defines Denver, it is Colfax. From the eccentric homegrown shops...to the melange of legislators and street people... Playboy magazine once called it "the longest, wickedest street in America." If the neighborhood festival gets its way...Colfax will gets its due as a destination neighborhood, without need of gentrification or "new urban" swank. "My long-term goal is to identify this area and keep it that organic visceral Colfax feel, but market it for people to come and enjoy." - Life on Capitol Hill, April, 2014
I step off a bus after work, a short walk from home. I glance down a side street. I see a truck with a snow plow on the front, pushing another car along. The next morning, I am at the bus stop across the street from where I live at 5am. There is a middle-aged couple there who I've never seen before. They are dressed perhaps as though they are natives of Tibet. When the bus shows up, the lady gets on. as the gentleman stays behind. At the train station are a couple of guys. One is wearing a hat and sport coat as though his grandfather may have worn. The other is staring bewildered at a ticket kiosk. I jump on a train to another bus. In the back of the bus are a couple of guys discussing "Fuckin' Jessie," and "I should've fuckin' called in today." It must be the shit to be down and out. I think that I hear one of them mention "cookies," and that "someone should go in there and spill all the fuckin' popcorn." When I get back to my own neighborhood after work, I walk past the bus stop across the street from where I live. I see a couple of familiar-looking drunks in the shelter. They are standing next to a small grill on the ground as they look for customers coming out of the liquor store next door, to ask them for change. The next morning, I am back at this very bus stop on another Saturday at 5 am. I watch the deathburger behind where I live. It's closed for construction. A police car has pulled up and is shining it's mounted light at something. An officer with a flashlight gets out. From across the street come running the couple from Tibet.
Saturday mornings of late, I wait for a bus on an embankment at a train station. Below, the concrete expanse of the station is lit up like a stage. I watch as a train snakes it's way slowly down the track. Downtown is lit up as well. A crescent moon rises through a cloud above the state capitol. Dawn is just rising over Sports Authority field. When the bus comes, I get on and become engrossed in a magazine, missing my stop by a couple of blocks. On my way back, I pass a restaurant empty except for a pair of police officers. The train takes me to a bus, carrying a middle-aged guy in a windbreaker with some kind of racing stripes on the sleeves. He has slicked-back hair and a face too weathered for his age. A guy in his twenties gets on. The two appear to know each other. The young guy is travelling by bicycle. It sounds as if he tells the other guy about finding a place to live and what the kitchen is like, about his W-4 form. I wonder if the two met in prison. The young guy bids the older farewell and departs. A ways down the road, the older one takes his coffee cup, grabs a bus schedule which he sticks in his back pocket, and gets off at a deathburger.
3rd time in the last 30 minutes (to the west of where I live)...one shot every 10 or 15 minutes since 8:30 (PM.) Called police but they said busy night and they will check it out. - posted to Facebook, 4/23/14
I'm off to grocery shopping on a grey Sunday spitting rain. I get on a bus, which has a couple of middle-aged women. One has on a T-shirt with what looks like native Inuit designs. She is holding three completed puzzles mounted to cardboard and varnished, all loosely wrapped in transparent plastic which extends around her back. She asks the driver if a particular bus runs on Sunday. The other woman barks, "All buses run on Sunday." She has a fold-up shopping cart with a box in the bottom which has her purse and a jar in it. When she gets off the bus, she wheels away her loudly squeaking shopping cart. When I come out of the supermarket, I sit next to a middle-aged guy on the bus bench. He has on sunglasses on this overcast day. He calls someone on his phone, and says, "Are you alive? I'm over here at the grocery store. No dumb ass, across from the Walmart. When I get there, we'll get a couple of beers." (It's 10 am.) A couple of hours later, I am at my usual bus stop, headed across town. I'm there with a guy who is pretty quiet, until he walks over to the bus schedule attached to the outside of the shelter, and stretches back his fist and gives it a punch. He's in and out of the shelter, looking down the avenue for the bus. He screams "NOOOOOO!" He lights a cigarette. When the bus comes, he gets on and rides to the train station without incident. An hour later, I am in a deli. Sitting at a table is an elderly guy having a sandwich. He is meticulously folding up his trash. He has a bag, the out side of which is printed with "The Sopranos." On the bus home, we stop at a red light, where we are flagged down by a young guy who claims that his friend across the street needs the bus. "How often does the bus come," he asks, "every hour?" The driver tells him this bus comes by every half hour. The guy looks across the street at his friend, he looks at the driver, and shrugs his shoulders.
While in...underground hip-hop - a radical critique can be found... If 24 was the...ticking-time-bomb scenario...and its constant stream of one-dimensional terrorist enemies - Homeland is...said to be the president's favorite program. ...a white American marine, is captured...by Al-Qaeda in Iraq (later this becomes the Taliban in Afghanistan - the two are apparently interchangeable)... He then plots to get elected to Congress and...subvert US foreign policy. ...he agrees to work as a double agent. ...the Al-Qaeda leaders who recruited him, enters into an implausible alliance with Hezbollah...somehow manages to enter the US with teams of heavily armed commandos... ...Homeland presents radicalization as closely tied to Islamic culture and identity. All of the major Muslim characters are terrorists...a Palestinian television journalist based in Washington who has easy access to the corridors of power and secretly plots on behalf of Al-Qaeda... The series' lack of concern for the differences between Hezbollah and Al-Qaeda, or between Iraq and Afghanistan, coupled with its ridiculous portrayal of Beirut as a terrorist enclave, give an impression of terrorism as a general cultural problem in the Middle East disconnected from specific political contexts. ...a battle between American values (symbolized by...family life) and Islamic values (presented as implying terrorism). Implicitly, Homeland is suggesting that the more culturally Muslim you are, the more likely you are to be a terrorist. ...in Homeland...the only Muslim voices raising political issues do so as terrorists. ...involve characters trying to justify terrorism...political dissent and terrorism are collapsed into each other... - Extra!, April 2014
It's a Monday on the last week of April, 5 am. I'm at my usual bus stop across the street from a medical marijuana establishment. It's a place which has been in the news as of late. This morning, a TV news van is parked in the lot, and a couple of guys are wandering around. I am at the bus stop with a middle-aged guy in work boots who I've never see before. he asks me, "Hey, you know what time the bus comes man?" The following morning, I am going past the same bus stop, headed for the deathburger. Coming the opposite way is a girl in hose carrying her shoes. They are sparkly high heels. She has on plaid shorts. When I get back to the stop, she is there putting on mascara. The bus comes and she gets on. She puts in some change, and the driver tells her that she needs more quarters. She appears surprised, and makes a general request of the passengers for a couple more quarters. Someone gives her two, which she puts in the fare box, and the driver tells her that she needs three more quarters. The same person gives her three more. After a short distance, she rings the bell for the next stop, and then tells the driver that she needs the stop past the next two.
