Monday. I'm on a packed bus up the street. At one stop, a couple step on. The woman tells the driver that the man with her, in a black motorcycle jacket, is her caregiver. This means he rides for free. Running the vertical length of the right side of his face is a scar which may be an old knife wound. The pair take a seat, and the woman begins speaking to someone else, mentioning my neighborhood. When we arrive at the train station, the couple disembark along with many others. Another group of passengers steps on. One who takes a seat is a fast-talking guy conversing with someone about his wife. The cops spoke with her at one point, attempting to convince her to Testify against him. The passenger he's talking to replies, "That's what they do." The first guy tells him that he "lost in court," and ended up "doing eight years." After he got out, he had a girlfriend who quit talking to him "on Messenger" because he decided to reunite with his wife. One of the two women "smacked" his son, who then called the police on her. Some ten hours later, I am at the stop for this same bus headed back to my corner. A passenger walks up to the shelter while he's on his phone. Whoever he is talking to asks him about someone he knows. "You know he's in jail, don't you?" The bus arrives and we both step on. He mentions a second person he knows who's locked up. I wonder if the person on the other end of the phone asks him if any potential urine test will come up hot. "I'm drinking, that's all," he says.
...well-established restaurants describe who we are like a long relationship that's settled into happy contentment. New restaurants, on the other hand... The idea of the potential is electrifying in and of itself Maybe it will be love. The magic of it all is the expectation. It's the shiny new toy at the holidays... With the explosion of the mile high population has come a tidal wave of new culinary adventures... AS our...resident chief columnist...says..."Times have changed. And that's a good thing." ...young romance and steadfast love: any life that's been fully lived knows them both. It's great to be alive, isn't it? - Dining Out, Summer/2018
Rent is trending upward on [the next thoroughfare east of where I live] as developments and new building owners come into the area. Increasing property taxes from the city are also a factor. Still, the vacancies don't last long in Denver's strong business market. ...the cost to bring...building[s] up to fire code and into compliance with the Americans with Disabilities Act, meant...rents closer to market value. ...rennovations...on-going maintanence costs... ...as a main thoroughfare into downtown Denver...the addition of designated bike lanes, contribute to its appeal. "A lot of the older regime of retail is getting pushed out." - Washington Park Profile, 10/2018
"Biggest issue is to know where to camp, know where the police are sweeping. ...people need to sleep." ..."we have basic human rights...sitting, using blankets, sleeping in your vehicle, and you can't have laws that criminalize that." "It's hard because you got to keep moving. Anywhere you go, you're trespassing." - Denver Herald, 10/4/2018
...we are facing a toxic cocktail of poverty, illiteracy, racial disparities and divisions, attacks on civil and voting rights...massive incarceration is sentencing millions of children of color to dead end, powerless, hopeless, and desperate lives.
After using her platform to call for gun control, death threats forced her out of the neighborhood where she grew up. "They're building more facilities to put these kids in, and when they come out they're institutionalized. They learn more while they're incarcerated than they would if they were on the streets." - Denver Urban Spectrum, 9/2018
Co-operative associations taught peasants how to work together in primitive industrial units. The Women's National Salvation Association...taught backward peasant women to spin and weave...to read and write. ...the Communists believed that only with education could she become an active citizen... It also gave the housewife a little income of her own which raised her status...and freed her from the dominance of her husband and in-laws. - White and Jacoby
...the PLO was quite capitalist. It invested in Wall Street...and ran...businesses, farms, and factories... It's conglomerate was often referred to as PLO, Inc. The Palestinian Authority had received five billion dollars in foreign aid over...five years, but was still on the verge of bankruptcy. - Dreams and Shadows, by R. Wright, 2008
...a neighborhood joint in a neighborhood that's changed almost beyond belief over the past dozen years...in a building that started life a century ago... ...so many businesses in this part of town...sell, then are scraped... ..."a real cool bar in town, we're not sure what we're going to do with it." ...a two-year lease...though, since this is Denver, it's one with a construction clause in case plans for the property's future change. [A new} name that better reflects the bar's role as a welcoming spot in this changing neighborhood. ...all the new people coming to this area, those bachelorette parties spilling across RiNo, the folks waiting for a table at hip Hop Alley... Westword, 10/4-10/2018
...enlisted men would pour into town...and...racketeers would pick them clean. Fortunate officers made alliances with English-speaking...college students, with nurses, with Red Cross girls. Venereal disease rates soared. USO troupes were. few and far between... When the big names did come...they left a foul-taste in the mouth of all who had to deal with them. ...a group of...liberals took shelter under war-lord provincalism to needle the Central Government... For intellectual Americans there was...conversation, for Americans...more earthy...famous prostitutes...silken-clad...ivory bodies and complete devotion to their art. ... the girls thronged every evening, two and three deep in a symphony of squeals, giggles, laughter... There was no sense of shame anywhere in the fabulous town. The hotels were full of women waiting for the Americans with honest enthusiasm; they learned American slang and American anatomical terms and spoke all the harsh words in silver, flute-like tones that robbed them of all dirtiness. -White and Jacoby
Wednesday. I'm up early, so I'm at work early. I spend an hour at the deathburger next to work. I'm inside an hour before my shift. It's an hour before the lunch rush, and the parade of tall and beautiful high school girls. Standing at the edge of a table is a middle-aged guy, his T-shirt hanging off his thin frame. There appears to be red paint on his shirt. I'm sure he's homeless. At the other end of the lobby are a couple of guys in a booth. One of them has prison tattoos on his face. Fifteen minutes before work, I stick my head out of the door. It's still luke warm. Fifteen minutes later, as if on cue, a wind comes up. On the way to the bus stop a light rain begins, followed by some hail. I throw my poncho on, which ends up torn by the time I get to the bus stop. My first bus home takes me to my boulevard. I roll up on the stop for my connecting bus home, just in time to see it go past. I notice that the driver is the woman who appears to be ten years old. Thursday. I'm on my corner, waiting to cross the boulevard to the bus stop. I watch my bus go past. I should have a full 15 minutes until the next. I'm in and out of the gas station. It's not 5 minutes later when another bus i at the stop. Was the previous one late? I don't make that one. But not 10 minutes after that a third one shows up. I step on, and up the street, a passenger comes through the front door with a sleeping bag and a leaf blower. I don't know how these two items are related, unless he is Bill Murray's character from the movie Caddyshack. What I do know is what's coming next. The leaf blower is gas powered. The driver takes him outside to let him know. No gasoline on the bus. "A pool or a pond. Yeah, anything's good." After work, hours later, I am back on my corner. On the sidewalk, turning the same corner, are the same monk from last month, plus another. Both are in brown robes and rope belts. They turn and head past the apartments where the Jehovah's Witnesses live.
Friday. I'm off to a dentist appointment, at a train station which I haven't frequented in some years. Sitting on the concrete this morning is a tiny young woman. Her hair is pale green and purple, a cream ski jacket, stretch pants and tiny tan construction boots. The bus arrives and she ask the driver how to get to the hospital. From here it's only ten blocks north. She could almost walk. After work,I roll up on the stop for my first bus home. There are three guys I've never seen before. The first has short grey hair and has a backpack on under a poncho. The second is a quiet middle-aged guy with his own bike. The third is a young guy. The first makes a big deal out of the obvious. "Whoa, there's two bikes here. I hope there's room, man." The bus arrives with no bikes on the rack. "Look at that, both bikes can go on now." We all step on the bus. The gabby one asks the young guy, who he calls Robby, if he lives with his parents. Robby is moving out as soon as his tax refund comes in. "get a car next. You got a licence?" The gabby one says his name is Rich. He says he's 60. he says he's a worker. He says he's always been a worker. Saturday. I'm on my connecting bus to work. Sitting next to me is a passenger with a huge ruck sack and two smaller bags. Perhaps they contain all his possessions. He has a phone upon which I hear him playing what sounds as if it's a porn movie. This is followed by what sounds as if it's the beginning of 60 Minutes.
China had no forum for discussion, no means of rectifying a tangled political problem by peaceful discussion...without the use or threat of armed force. No Chinese group other than the Communists ever dared to arm the people...to rectify their own grievances. The Communists...could arm hundreds of thousands and know that the arms would not be turned against them. The old village system...began to crumble under...Communism's dynamic...creed. The Communists preached...war against the entire past. ...in civil war all law is in doubt. - White and Jacoby
...none...were rent-a-crowds, the usual means of producing mass turnouts... "A region long since dead politically suddenly had a pulse." Violence is increasingly unacceptable to the majority... ...Muslim intellectuals calling on the United Nations to...outlaw the use of religion to incite violence. ...people turn to political Islam, they are turning against Islamic extremism. ...the "counter-jihad." "Is it something real? Is this finally an Arab spring? ...these will be the last battles." The emir's rule is still absolute. "...for now, the trend is toward participatory despotism." Elections engineered to produce token participation are preempting real democracy... ...Middle East regimes...which survive off the "rent" of foreign payments from petroleum products - can limit both public leverage and foreign pressure. Petroleum and democracy don't mix well. "Tyranny has a full tank." Petroleum wealth can breed political apathy. "Our society is tribal...tribes select their eldest...just listen to his order... People are still comfortable with that system. They don't see any reason to work in politics." Fatah...had little ideology...basically...to eliminate...Israel... - Wright
A Republican state representative helped produce the event. a number of Republican candidates for office spoke and [the] GOP gubernatorial candidate['s] super PAC was there to hire people for the campaign. Many attendees wore protective clothing, from tactical gloves with hard plastic knuckles to helmets and...arm padding. ...the Proud Boys were "the largest single group of attendees"... "I am a proud Western chauvinist who refuses to apologize for creating the modern world." That is the first step in joining the group. ...you get beaten up until you cry out the names of five breakfast cereals. Finally you get a tattoo. Recently they added...getting into a fight with anti-fascists. Two of the attendees at the Denver rally wore a popular Proud Boys T-shirt that reads "Pinochet did nothing wrong!" with the letters "RWDS" on the left sleeve. The acronym stands for "Right Wing Death Squad." The back of the shirt, kept covered by both men during the rally, says "Make communists afraid of rotary aircraft again," accompanied by a cartoon depicting people being tossed out of a helicopter. ...a popular meme in cyberspace for alt-right types. Many feature Bernie Sanders being tossed to his death by a smiling Pinochet. The meme morphed into Trump... Later Hillary became the victim. - Boulder Weekly, 10/18/2018
Many Camaroonians blame their new "democracy" for the "confusion," "chaos," and "decline of public authority" that has overtaken their country. ...political freedom will not address...deterioration. The civil disorder...has reduced foreign investment... Despite elections, real civil societies are a long way off and...economic growth...continues to fall or stagnate. - The Ends of the Earth, by R. D. Kaplan, 1996
Monday. I'm on my first bus home after work. My bike is the first one on the bike rack. We quickly pick up a second passenger with a bike. At another stop, the driver allows a passenger to bring a third bike inside. Three is the limit for this driver. When another passenger at yet another stop wants to bring a bike inside, he says he's full up. At a stop further along, yet another passenger wants to bring his bike inside. The driver gives him the same answer. He responds that he will bring his inside and hold onto it. "Oh," asks the driver, "you're telling me, not asking me, huh?" The following evening, I am on the same bus home again. I sit across from a guy who strikes me as a street person. He has a giant suitcase on wheels with a handle. He's examining what appears to be a brochure with images of other suitcases. He scrutinizes it as he holds it close to his face. After sitting in silence, he then asks the driver, "Hey, what happened to that bus [on this route] that got the fire department called on it?" All the driver knows is it happened downtown. The passenger then claims to have seen a jet aircraft as it's engines lost power before regaining flight. I change buses and see the ten-year-old driver. She's hidden under a knit cap, but at one point stands up to put up seats in the wheelchair area. She's actually very cute. Along the way we pick up a handful of guys at a stop. She asks them why they all are trying to hide certain information as they show their transfers. One of them is drunk and takes gulps from a plastic cup. He replies, "Us? You're sittin' there like the green creeper." I later tell her I've never heard of the "green creeper." She says he thought he said the "green reaper." I tell her that I haven't heard that one either. He wanders to the back before wandering back up front. Suddenly he has headphones on. He gets excited as the driver doesn't slow down for his stop. She tells him that he must pull the cord, jale el cordon, to signal that he wants a particular stop. Sitting up front has been a guy everyone has had to step around, as his legs are out toward the aisle. He has a walker and his dressed in black, from his short-brimmed hat and sunglasses (at 8:30 PM) to his wool coat. Only his goatee is white. A passenger gets on and mentions that he's from Texas. For the first time, the guy in black speaks, asking him what part of Texas. El Paso, he replies. The dark man says he's from El Paso. "Every morning," he expounds, "dead bodies all over the street."
Wednesday. I'm on the bus up the street to work. A Caucasian guy steps on and asks the driver if this bus goes to the train. His goatee is neatly trimmed and he's in a fashionable leather jacket. He carries a large cup with soda and no lid. I change buses. Sitting up front is a grey-haired guy in red basketball shoes. I put my own soda down on the wheel well. He keeps pointing at it to make sure that I don't forget that it's there. Another passenger steps on board and trips over one of his shoes on the way to a seat. The following morning, there is a guy coming up the sidewalk. He's in a fleece jacket with images of wolves and camouflaged pants, riding a purple cruiser bike. He's the first of two bicycle riders who go past, who are not looking to catch my bus. Of the two, he's the more memorable. After this, along comes the Vietnamese guy who speaks gibberish on the bus and always has a grin pasted on his face. As usual, he's smartly dressed in a down jacket with a pastel rainbow scarf neatly tucked around his neck. He may be insane in the membrane, but someone is making sure this guy looks good. On his way to his usual spot on the bus bench, he stops at the gas station for coffee on this chilly morning. When another guy shows up, booming loud hip hop on his player, the Vietnamese guy bums a cigarette.
Friday. On the bus up the street to work. I think he comes on board at the train station. A guy, his child, and a stroller all step through the door. The three find a seat across from myself. He holds the child on his lap as he makes a couple of calls on his phone. He speaks to someone at the other end, asking them to pick him up further along this boulevard. He mentions missing an appointment yesterday, and he doesn't want to miss one today. He lets out a big laugh at the prospect. His voice has a naive, happy-go-lucky tone to it. He tells whoever he's talking to that he put two "tickets" into the fare box of a bus, just as he has on many buses up until today. He claims that the driver made a big deal about it, telling him it's improper. He claims that this is how he has purchased a transit system pass for the day. I'm guessing by "tickets" he means ride coupons, and it does strike me as odd that one would attempt to use these coupons, with the value of a single fare, as a kind of legal tender. [The tickets] "are free from the clinic anyway," he says. I wonder if his appointments are at a clinic. He then claims that he wasn't attempting to purchase a pass for the day. It sounds as if he is suggesting that, since the tickets are free from the clinic and he needs only one, he is using his leftover ticket to pay it forward to the next passenger. If this is so, why not hand the extra ticket to the driver instead of insisting on inserting into the fare box? He then relates a story about his visit to a drug store, after which he and his son were waiting outside at the bus stop. He claims that someone came along and was shining a light in his face. His stories sound incomplete, even though I'm hearing only one end of this conversation. He doesn't say who shined the light. The police? The drug store security? He decided to walk away from the bus stop, which makes no more sense than the rest of it. I step out of the bus and onto the corner for my connecting one. I run into the Sinclair station. When I come out to collect my bike, a little guy with a scruffy grey beard shuffles, step by step, up to me. He quietly asks me if I "have a couple of dollars so" he "can get a beer?" "A beer?" I ask. "This early in the morning?" Actually, it's 10:30 AM. He shrugs and asks, "Don't you drink?"
...people kept so busy...that they had little time for political disputation. ...few systems of government are so perfect that they evoke total accord spontaneously. Cynicism is an essential part of politics, and when it's missing, something of the savor of freedom is also lacking. The Communists promised...a completely free press. ..."unless they are enemies of the people." ...the Communists...were the only group...linked to a nation-wide policy with a cohesive program. ...the peasants accepted the Communists as...an expression of their own will. ...the army [as] the shield of the peasantry.
...allies are the bourgeoisie, the progressive urban elements, the intellectuals and liberal-minded of the middle-class... How will the Communists react to the organized opposition of the large cities where the...middle class is firmly established...? Will the Communists, if they govern...industrial cities, permit an opposition...patronage and ideology? They say that they will... ...will they yield to a peaceful vote? Will they champion civil liberties...? ...how [will] a transitional coalition regime [work] in peacetime practice [?]
...to mold American policy in relation to an uncontrollable revolution. Set down in the chaos of a crumbling civilization, disturbed by the alarums and violence of a new world... The [U.S.] Embassy...its mission was to...encourage...the creation of a new and stable Chinese society. For the first time, the United States could tip the balance in China. Both warring factions...trusted America's honesty as arbiter... The United States Embassy had become the crossroads of destiny in the Orient. ...shrewd bargaining would settle the basic social problems of Asia in revolution. ...anyone...who thought of Chaing not all shining pure was suspected of Communism. ...problems of...personal and political freedom. A government that tried to solve these problems would have to give the Communists enough power to destroy it. - White and Jacoby
...leaders...emerged between the 1960s and the 1980s and...hung on...for decades. [They] may have started out with popular ideology of nationalist zeal, but they all ended up corrupt, ineffective, or autocratic... Each miscalculated the costs...of monopolizing power. Each also insured that...change...would be slower and its course more complex... - Wright
Sunday. I roll up to a movie theater on a snowy afternoon. Another guy pulls up to the bike rack. He has thinning hair and stubble, probably my age, and he's wearing yellow tactical sunglasses. He mentions getting his bike for only $35 and rigging up different handlebars. On the following Wednesday, I'm on the bus up the street to work. One passenger is explaining his navigating both Medicare and his AARP membership. A relative of his passed away, and someone behind a desk, perhaps at a hospital, wanted to charge him $35 for a new social security card for his deceased relative. When he inquired why, he says the reason he was given is because they could not identify his deceased relative with the ss card they had while they were alive. He describes this as a scam, and says he had a copy of the coroner's report which somehow resolved the situation. (We are the hollow men...) "That's greed," he tells the other passenger, "not succeed." (?) He explains that he took the deceased relatives funds from their account and put it into a trust for his children, rather than simply transfer the funds to his own account. This, he says, is because transferring the funds to his account would be seen as income, and he would be disqualified for Medicaid. He also explains that, with AARP, he can purchase "all kinds of stuff," even a home if he so desires, without any penalty to his Medicaid. As long as he doesn't use his own name.
Hours later, I roll up to the stop for my first bus home. This evening random nut is a guy who comes slowly along. He creeps up to me and silently stares at me as he looks down. The bus then arrives. We both get aboard and he takes a seat across from a couple who appear as if they are street folks. I squeeze between them as I take my own seat. We eventually get to the transfer hub where the couple are disembarking. The woman stands up and says something about the bus "not fucking stopping." The first guy tells them to "be safe." It appears that they all know each other. A young woman steps onboard. She's cute. I recognize her from the morning run of this route in the opposite direction. The last time she was here, she had nylon gloves on her heads. Another passenger asked her about them but I didn't hear what she said. We head out of the transfer hub and pick up a woman along the way. She speaks in mumbles and sounds as if she's another street person. She and the first guy also know each other. I change buses. It fills up fast with a slew of passengers hauling baggage. The driver is the ten-year-old. She handles her passengers with her usual no nonsense approach. A little middle-aged guy in an orange coat too big for him is digging for his fare. He responds to her impatience with, "I told you I had a date tonight." A young couple steps aboard. The short girl has a couple of bags on her back, along with a sleeping bag. The guy is wearing what appears to be a kind of face mask I've seen before. It's worn to keep the face warm in cold air and wind. His is printed with a faded American flag pattern across the whole thing. He has his own pile of bags. Happy Halloween.
Thursday. After work I'm on my first bus home. An elderly couple step on. They strike me as street dwellers. The woman is wearing a hoodie with "I don't want to be a monster" on the back. She has with her a big brown dog. As it turns out, they appear not to be a couple after all. She gets out at the transfer hub. Him I recognize. The last time he was o this route, I saw him in a seat, the same seat he;s in this evening. At the time, he had a pile of bags and a sleeping bag. He was dozing off, snoring, waking up, and immediately scratching off a lotto ticket before he dozed off again. This evening, he has no luggage. He has fallen asleep with a new phone still in the box. He holds it with dirty hands. I change buses. Another passenger has a dog with him. A young woman steps on with a slew of teenage kids. A guy sitting behind me says, "Damn, girl, how many kids you got?" She smiles, cocks her hip, and replies, "Enough." It turns out that they know each other. He asks her what's up. She tells him that she and her family just returned "from a service for her cousin. He was shot in a crossfire, some twenty block north of where I live. This is just north of a huge social services building and just south of the city football stadium. She and her family get out, and the guy sitting across from the passenger next to the dog says to him that a mutual friend "was up in county (jail) for a couple of days." Friday. The bus stop across the street from where I live is being surveyed by surveyors. There are orange cones in the street blocking access to it. I assume that no bus will stop here until they are finished. Fortunately, there is a stop two blocks away.
The five-decade-long resident of West Highland had already seen...his neighborhood become ...a mecca for millennial couples with strollers and dogs and Subarus, bringing...a slurry of hip bars and restaurants and...increased traffic.
...in the hospitality industry...hotels and restaurants keep opening at...a relentless pace... ...on the Johnson & Wales campus in east Denver. ...in...a...Food Writing class, Denver publications are required reading... ...also...a course called "Denver as Text,"...to explore urban planning and socio-economic factors of individual neighborhoods (life expectancy can be charted by zip code...and there's as much as a ten-year variation...)... - Westword, 10/11-17/2018
[Mountain town] Buena Vista's new South Main development, pioneered by [a] former professional kayaker...and his sister...has transformed the town, to differing opinions. ...the new generation, with a vision of New Urbanism... "There's an animosity because they want to keep the town small and unchanged, but...you have to go with progress and keep it smart." Inspired by Boulder, Durango, Crested Butte and Telluride, [the former kayaker] wanted to bring New urbanism to BV [Buena Vista.] ...South Main has in turn revitalized the older Main Street, which was more than half vacant... "The vitality has been immense, the sale tax has more than doubled, and the median age has dropped 10 years...while the median wage has risen. ...says 10-year Buena Vista resident..."I avoid South main," she says, mentioning the noise and traffic from music festivals organized by [said former kayaker.] He's wanting to change our town and bring things into our neighborhood that disrupt hundreds of lives. Some people have to be at a job at 4 o'clock in the morning and they're having to get by on two or three hours of sleep"...with people living in tents and cars in the mountains because they can't afford the rent. - Boulder Weekly, 10/18/2018
"As a creative, what's your vision for a more perfect Denver (or Colorado?)" I went to...a room full of creatives from all walks of life...developers and community planners...community activists and artists and just plain simple folk... ...in this...challenging time, I wonder what art is all about. Gentrification and rising rents...it's now reaching a critical mass, affecting creatives and just regular working class people everywhere. ...it's been a long, depressing fight since the early '90s. The survivors are the ones who bought something early and cheap... I'm not too worried about millennials. They are shapeshifters and trendsetters doing...Instagram, crowdsourcing and pop-ups. Combined with Venmo or Square... I am...down on a profit-driven educational system/society that...tosses [students] out...with no trade skills...while building an art career. My big hope is that people in their teens and early twenties will not get discouraged by the tide against them. ...many great new spaces are staying on the lowdown off the city radar. Smart. - Westword Fall Arts Guide 2018
...companies...here...bringing in employees...in their own cities within the city... We are in a day and age where...we need to incentivize financial business less. - Outfront Magazine, 10/3/2018
In the book, "Empire of Illusion" by Chris Hedges, he states..".our culture has been carved up into radically distinct, unbridgeable, and antagonistic entities that no longer speak the same language and cannot communicate. This is a divide between a literate, marginalized minority and those who have been consumed by an illiterate mass culture." - Urban Spectrum, 10/2018
Saturday. 6:30 PM. After work, I'm at the stop for the bus to the supermarket. A kid sits on the back of the bus bench. His tight jeans are slung low. When I show up, he asks me for a "shigarette." I notice that he already as one behind his ear. The white stands out against the dark of twilight. I reply that I don't smoke. Or should I say "shmoke"? Monday. I'm on the bus up the street to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I think I see a passenger in a long coat step aboard and take a seat behind me. I'm reading a gay magazine I picked up at the movies. It's the Halloween issue and a couple in a bondage relationship is featured in costume. The dom is Darth Vader and the sub is a sandperson. My stop approaches and I stand near the door. Another passenger stands behind me. We both step off and I realize that the one behind me was the original monk I first saw strolling past my corner. I also realize that he was the one sitting behind me, not in a coat, but in a robe. May the force be with you.
Twenty-four hours later and I am again on the bus up the street to work. Sitting across from me is a middle-aged, working class-looking guy. He's in a navy zippered jacket, jeans, and work boots. His face looks as if it's been beaten up. His forehead appears swollen. He looks either like a character from another decade, or as if he's from some kind of post-apocalyptic future. Or perhaps he's simply from my own boulevard. At one stop we pick up a guy with a walker. "What happened to you?" asks the driver. "You got fare today? What happened to you?" "I'm hurt bad," he replies. "I fell down." An hour later I'm sitting inside the deathburger next to work. There are four high school girls sitting in a booth. I'm listening to a narrative about being grounded, about a dad un-grounding a daughter who was grounded by her mom, about a mom taking a phone away from a daughter after having just given it back to her after having taken it away the first time. When I head over to work an hour later, the girls are long gone. They are replaced by a painter crew conversing in Spanish.
Eight hours later, I am rolling up on the stop for my first stop home. My bus is parked there, and the only reason I catch it is because it's having a bit of engine trouble. This evening, the ten-year-old is driving, and she never ceases to surprise me. She jumps out and says her "check engine light" is going off. She's the first driver who I have seen get out with a flashlight and open the engine panel to check it out. She calls it in to dispatch, which tells her to get going, light or no light. She's told not to park under any trees. I ask her why this is dangerous, although I admit I feel odd asking a fifth-grader questions about emergency procedures with a city bus. Danger of a lightning strike perhaps? She hasn't been told why. Hers is but to do or die. Into the boulevard of death rode the #31. She mentions that this is the second bus today which has broken down on her. When we reach the train station, she announces that we will get another bus. Someone in back asks, "What about that kiss? What about that kiss? That come with it?" She has no idea what he's talking about. I tell her as we exit the bus that there's a drunk guy who wants a kiss. On the new bus, we approach my stop I tell her that whatever she's making, it's not enough. She concurs.
Wednesday. Again I am on a bus up the street to work. This morning it's 48 degrees F. In a seat is a guy in a teal tank top and bedroom slippers. He's balding with a ponytail and has a cane and an ankle monitor. We get to a corner where I catch my connecting bus. At a far corner of the outside of the Sinclair station is a grey-haired homeless guy, with a backpack and a sleeping bag. He's talking to another guy in a buttoned down shirt. I don't know, but I wonder if the homeless guy is being told to move along, which in fact he does. After work, I'm back on my last bus home. The same driver is here from last night. I tell her that i can'e believe she has to check her own engine. She t ells me it's part of a CDL license. The guy who, last night, asked her for a kiss is back onboard this evening. Tonight, he speaks up again, asking her to turn on some air. Actually, he asks her to turn off the heat, and she has to tell him that the heat isn't on. The following morning, back at the same bus stop. The bus has arrived. I watch a guy shuffling through the same crosswalk I came through minutes ago. He gets on in front of me. He's in shorts and a Miami Dolphins shirt. He asks the driver, "I just got out of jail. Can I ride with this?"
...the Democratic League. ...unreservedly opposed to dictatorship... It claimed professors, writers, scholars...bankers and industrialists... They believed that they represented most of China... Although the city's workers had been decimated...the huge middle class there...saw Chiang as the living symbol of China's nationhood. ...huge portraits of him...emerged from hiding places...shopkeepers wove garlands of flowers...about the huge pictures... The air was like wine..parades of jubilation...like froth...people...surged...about the lavish hotels [full of] recently arrived Americans... China must change or die. Within our time she must transfer half a billion people from...the Middle Ages into the world of the atomic bomb. ...the nature of the scientific attitude. This mass of human beings must be mobilized for the greatest of adventures. ...be given justice...taught to build and create...be educated... ...little margin...of...the talents and energies of all...will be left for political violence. Chiang K'ai-shek['s vision for China is] interesting as signposts to the future. [China's] own people are a mystery to its scholars for there are no adequate statistics... To develop [the potential of China's natural resources] would of course require staggering sums of money and material... Transportation is the prime and critical factor in China's rebirth... China needs 3,000,000 automobiles for her roads... ...China can begin...to plan...a Western standard of industry. The peasant... Unless his standard of living goes up...industry will have no domestic market but will be linked to uncontrollable cycles of world trade... The peasant will remain primarily a peasant, and his critical problems linked to the earth. ...he needs justice, a fairer share of the crops he raises...before he can...enjoy the industry his taxes are to build. - White and Jacoby
...in the last few years I've fallen in love with minimalism. ...more intentional about things. ...things...don't bring happiness. I think...my kids...see us making a lifestyle decision. I used to work in the marketing and advertising industry. I gave my career a 'B.' ...to leave the corporate world... ...now I am a national board certified health and wellness coach. ...also a functional certified health coach. We get to the root cause... Instead of treating your symptoms, we treat you. ...I use food as medicine...really digging to the psychology of what...roadblocks [there] are.
...seconds of judgement are vital for women...seeking employment...who may have trouble...based on criminal histories, shelter addresses, or lapses in employment history...hardships in life, it's even more important to look the part... "...you dress the way you want to be treated." - Arvada Press, 10/25/2018
Friday. Same bus stop across the street from where I live. There appears to be a couple with a child and stroller, and another young woman here. The father is scolding his son for attempting to sit on the floor of the shelter. I smell potent marijuana. If a bud tender were here, he or she could perhaps identify the strain and educate me on its details. Alas there is no such expert. Who is at the opposite end of the bench from the family is the loony Vietnamese guy, familiar serene grin on his face. I wonder what pronouncements await his captive audience, declarative statements from a membrane whose damage is otherwise hidden behind a smile and a cup of coffee. The bus arrives. The young woman, Loony, and myself step on board. He asks the driver, "How is your day going." This is the last sane statement he makes before disembarking at the train station. This unsuspecting driver begins a conversation. Loony then goes into action. "They keep building," he says. "We run out of coal. Coal mine. We all die." I've lampooned Loony before, but I don't recall ever suggesting that he moderate his narratives devoid of logic, which are the only narratives or anything else which I have ever heard him compose. Yet, he may wants to go easy on announcing the extinction of the entire human race. If this is a threat against every individual on the face of the earth, that's what, some ten billion charges? That's not even including civil suits from the coal industry. But I digress. Never argue with a nut. The driver eventually goes silent, poor guy. Save for his permanent happy face, there is no clue, not from his moussed hair nor his snappy wardrobe, that Loony's mind is not meeting expected goals. Perhaps an hour later, I'm sitting inside the deathburger next to where I work. Waiting for his order is a tall guy with a bushy grey Hulk Hogan moustache and a pair of jeans with a ring of keys. Standing next to him is a shorter guy with a beard and sunglasses. I wonder if what I'm looking at could be a TV commercial. The tall guy says to the other, "...the Christmas party. There is nothing there that interests me." The other replies, "The food?"
Saturday. I'm on my first bus home after work. The driver is the ten-year-old. I mention to her that a passenger from earlier this week, who wanted to give her a kiss, is the same one who wanted her the following evening to turn off the heat...which was not on. Which she then had to explain to him. She proceeds to tell me that he stepped onto her bus again and asked for for a kiss. She had to call her supervisor to escort him off the bus. He then came back on her bus the following day to ask her for a transfer, because she literally put him off the day before. I tell her that this route is "quieter" than the one up and down my boulevard. She then tells me that she was driving this route when a couple stepped on, and then the guy assaulted the woman. This happened right next to her, and she described it as terrifying. Another passenger came to the woman's defense and the driver had to call the police. So much for having a less stressful route. We roll up on a stop where a grey-haired passenger is shaking all over in anger. His phone has an alarm which refuses to stop going off. "Be...quiet! Be...quiet!" he says.
Monday. Bus stop across the street from where I live. Standing here is a brand new Caucasian in the neighborhood. She might have stepped out of the early 1970's. She's young and tall, and she's in plaid pants and has long hair. She's a student, no doubt. Loony is here as well, with his coffee and his snappy scarf. The bus arrives to pick us up and he's standing up front as usual. This morning, he says to the driver, "...they take money out, gold, diamonds." A grey-haired guy steps on. He's in a black leather jacket and in both arms carries a big white bag. He drops the bag in a space on the floor. It lands with a bang, as if something metal is inside. Hours later, I am on the same bus headed the opposite way down my boulevard. The same guy is on board this evening. Instead of a giant bag, he has in the seat next to him a pair of olive pants. He's hunched over scratching a ticket. At one stop, he jumps off for a few seconds, leaving his pants on the seat. He jumps back on and is apologetic. He says he didn't know where he was. The driver this evening is the ten-year-old. A guy behind me is on his phone. He mentions bus routes which go back and forth between a halfway house and a warehouse. At one stop near my own neighborhood, a woman steps on. I hear the driver ask her, "You don't have any money or anything?" She lets the woman on. The passenger appears to be in her thirties, with a big leather bag over her shoulder. She takes a seat where the leather jacket guy was before he stepped off. I wonder if she's drunk. She asks the guy on the phone a question. he tells her that he's on his phone. She laughs and says she thought he was speaking to her. We approach my corner. I move toward the front door. The driver tells me that the passenger who asked her for a kiss last week, he when he recognizes her now, he won't step onto her bus.
Tuesday. I'm up the street at the Sinclair station. On the corner is a young woman in a blanket, flying a panhandling sign. Just before I go inside, a guy asks me for five dollars. When he gets inside, he asks a clerk if he "can borrow some gas?" When I get outside, I see my bus at the light. I head over to the corner to cross the boulevard and catch this bus. The blanket woman asks me for a dollar. Trick or treat. At work I hear a local radio talk show. Someone who is running for a seat on the board of the transit system is the guest. He says that the fare to ride in the metro area is among the highest in the city. He says that no one is showing up to community meetings with transit system representatives. More than once, I've heard the ten-year-old driver say to passengers, that they need to complain to the transit system if they want any of their complaints addressed. After work, she is driving my last bus home this evening. At the train station, a passenger steps on, says something unintelligible, grabs his crotch, and bust his moves to the back of the bus. He does this without showing any proof of fare. He's a juiced nut job with no off switch, taking a seat and having an epileptic hip hop fit. The driver yells, "Hey, where's your ticket?"
And, after a long month, it's Halloween. I'm back at the Sinclair station up the street. It's a chilly morning. Inside is a guy who asks to use the men's room. He has no socks, a cowboy hat, and few teeth. Hours later, after work, I am directly across the street at the stop for my first bus home. The bus pulls up. Ten-year-old driver. The passenger in line in front of me is a middle-aged guy. He has a burger in one hand and an open box of restaurant crackers in the other. He's in a hoodie with an enormous number three on the right side of the hood. He looks like a character from a George Lucas movie from 1971, titled "THX-1138". He tells the driver that he lost his transfer. Neither does he have any explanation for a giant fucking "3" on his head. Not that this is the strangest thing on this boulevard, far from it. She lets him on. Another passenger, at the next stop, doesn't have full fare. Down the boulevard, at an intersection with a highway on ramp, a third passenger flags us down. He's not at a stop. The driver stops for him and lets him know that she isn't supposed to stop in the middle of the street, or anyplace besides a designated stop, to pick up passengers (crazy or otherwise.) My understanding is any transit system driver may get a stiff fine for doing so. This guy has an orthopedic cane, mismatched gloves, and a hospital wristband. We approach my stop. I show the driver that I have a Halloween mask with me. She asks me if I ride my bike with it. I tell her, no, I only take it when I want to attempt to fit in on this boulevard.
