The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence are...an order of queer drag queen nuns...wearing nun habits... "I was a homeless youth once"... - Westword, 6/30-7/6/2022
"We need to have a caring, empathetic and sympathetic voice for our homeless...I don't think there's a place in Castle Rock to have a shelter." ...initially [there were] included bathrooms [as part of a Denver suburb commission plan] acquiring 17 temporary [homeless] shelters... [One commissioner] said he wasn't interested in including them. The county is also planning...a signage campaign asking the public not to hand out cash to people experiencing homelessness. "We...are so early on this...we can nip it in the bud and get to functional zero. ...we can get pretty darn close to...this [as] the safest, cleanest, crime free community..."
Highlands Ranch first-ever drag comedy show carried on despite the roughly 50 protesters who gathered outside the...Rec Center... - Highlands Ranch Herald, Week of 6/23/2020
Friday is the 1st. It begins with my racing out the door. I want to hit the gym and the waterpark before work. I'm headed down my street and across the boulevard. A pair of homeless guys are walking ahead of me in the bike lane. One of them waves at a minivan in the middle of the street. It appears almost as if the left front shock absorber has collapsed. Behind the minivan is a car waiting for the homeless guys to move so it can pass. I get up onto the sidewalk and pass the entire scene. I make a break for the train and take it down to the gym. Inside, a woman in a hijab is cleaning the glass outside the handball court. A grey-haired player has his gear on the floor in front of the glass. She asks him to move it. Instead of moving it, he tells her that it's "okay here. Everything is okay." (?) After a workout it's off to the waterpark and then on to work. I stay an hour after close. On the way home, right before the last bridge over the river, up the street is a new line of three homeless campers. The following day is another Saturday. Yes, we are open. Yes I am working. But after work, I'm headed down a newly scouted turn to an outdoor pool. I'm coming down a walkway and bike trail along a highway. Coming toward me is a middle-aged guy. He's pushing a small stolen shopping cart. It's the cart of choice for the homeless. Laying across the cart is a bicycle. He asks me how far it is to a neighborhood east of here. It's a neighborhood my sister used to live in. I tell him its three city blocks, and there is a bus he can catch there, straight down this highway. He tells me that friends dropped him off at the intersection of this busy avenue and Interstate 25. That's not far behind him. He tells me that they continued on to Pueblo, which is at the bottom of the state. He doesn't say why they dropped him here to push this cart with the bike, or if they brought the cart along with him, which is unlikely. I leave him with his narrative and continue on to the pool.
Weird Fucking 4th
Sunday, I run out of the door, headed for the train. At the station, I am in the process of validating a transit system ride coupon when I spy another middle-aged guy with a bicycle. I don't recall seeing him with a helmet. He may have had a hat with a brim. He's on a bench and asks me an existential question. "Is that a seat or a cover?" He speaks of the bike I ride on the weekend. I tell him it's both a seat with a cushioned cover on it. He tells me, "It looks comfortable." The train swoops me to a station from which it's but a short ride to the waterpark. I'm not there long, I would have stayed, but I'm due to assist the sister in more shelving of books. She now has all of her books out of storage for the past seven years. After the early afternoon there, I head back to the train to a station from which I make my way crosstown. I ride all the way to where my home of fourteen years stood, where now a pair of giant two-story duplexes stand. There are more new condo units among the old homes. I ride back down to the big art fest. It's in a well to do neighborhood. The clouds rolled in before I left the sister's. It's a curiously quiet and empty festival. It's toward closing time. Only one side of some streets have booths. The following day, I think I'm going downtown to a giant comic/movie/superhero convention. It turns out there is no convention today. I walk around the entire circumference of the huge center where it's advertised to be. Every door has the same sign: "No entry through these doors. Have fun!." I spot a maintenance guy at one door. We converse in Spanish. The entire complex is closed today. I suspect that the convention was Friday through yesterday. There is no pool open. I will find out, after I get home, that there is no big deal art festival today either. ...on July 4th. Okay. Glad I went there yesterday. Well, at least I had a good ride. I return home my way of a route out of downtown, which takes me over a train crossing. The gate is up and there are no trains. Yet an approaching vehicle is barely moving in the other lane. The driver immediately strikes me as homeless. His window is open, and as I pass him, he tells me that he can't wait until civilization has bicycles which operate themselves.
I drop my weekend bike at home and assemble what I need for work tomorrow. Then I am out the door to the sister's place. I haven't been home for the evening of the 4th of July since two years ago, when I was up through the night listening to the neighbor next to my townhome. He was launching fireworks. Around 5 PM, I head for the train station where I grab a bus. It drops me not far from work. I head to work and get there shortly before 6, where I put some food in the fridge and leave my wardrobe for tomorrow. Then it's off to the sister's place. I'm there in about an hour where we have a little dinner. I help shelve some more books before we watch a few fireworks from her front porch. It's turned from a 96-degree F.-day into a nice evening. Though I sleep on her floor, I have a fine sleep. I make breakfast and we eat it out on her back patio. The morning is the best part of the entire weekend. Out on her patio, it's a nice cool morning. A couple of hours later I'm at the waterpark, when it's already 91 degrees F. I'm locking up my bike at the stand when a lifeguard comes whizzing up on an electric bike. Another lifeguard comes over and asks him about it. He replies that this one is an older model, about $3,000. He says he had a newer one with all the extras. He says it was stolen, and worth $4,000. Thursday. Methinks it was last week. A small homeless trailer has shown up on the street a block from my own. The street was clean for perhaps most of this year. Coming home this evening past the damaged guard rail along the trail. A homeless car has arrived. And at the turn across the last bridge over the river, some yards down the street along the trail, a homeless car is visible. Again, I think it was last week, three homeless dwellings I spotted where the car is now. Just before the damaged end of the guardrail, out in the middle of the trail, a scene is taking up most of both lanes. A homeless couple is gathered around a small motorbike, a bicycle (both on the ground), and a heavy metal cart. It appears much too heavy for the little motorbike. The lady stands over the motorbike as the guy works on it. I spot it all in the distance as another cyclist comes up behind me. I stop and let her go first around them.
Before...Denver launched an e-bike rebate program on Earth Day...the typical e-bike purchasers had been Baby Boomers. Now the demographics...have dropped by 25 or 30 years... [Parts of a couple of bike trail routes which I ride twice a day] are...popular paths... Some bike purists [...is that me?] don't appreciate seeing e-bikes on these trails, which they're already sharing with walkers, hikers, rollerbladers [only recently] and sometimes even horses. [As far as the horses are concerned, I ride part of an actual horse trail, in a neighborhood zoned for horses. As for the "popular paths", don't forget the electric scooters, those on boards with a single wheel in the middle, and at one point skateboarders in wetsuits carrying surfboards. And as far as "walkers", it is a "pedestrian and bike trail". Most walkers have dogs with them. But perhaps most glaringly missing from this story, though not directly a part it, are the homeless out on the trail. They appear to make their own converted motorized bicycles using what sound as if they are gasoline powered engines. Those would be, what, g-bikes? They don't need no rebates.] "...a lot of e-bikers do not call out their pass. And some of the e-bikes...are whisper-quiet - you can't even hear them coming." [I don't "call out my pass either. Something the homeless especially don't appreciate, at least from me. One of my bicycles used to rattle and clatter. Pedestrians couldn't even hear that bike coming.] While the trails are great for...sometimes even commuting [you don't say...], Denver doesn't have a truly connected bike path system through the city. [Which is why a cyclist must know how the trails connect to the streets and the transit system.] - Westword, 7/7-13/2022
...in the bicycle industry...there's a lot of jargon, men are dominant...and information often isn't readily passed along. "Not a lot of people feel welcome in bike shops." [One] full-service bike shop and community organization [hosts] Gender Equity Mechanics Night [which] invites women, girls, trans, and gender nonconforming individuals to free workshops... - colorado parent, 7/2022
Thursday. I'm on the way home from work, off the trail and making my way through the residential streets in my extended neighborhood. Along a short block where a big trailer used to be, it's gone again. Around a couple of corners and I'm just across the street from my place. In the little parking lot of a small shopping center is a big trailer. If it ain't a homeless trailer...what's it doing parked across several spaces here? Friday. Just when I am lamenting not having as many hours this week, I get called in to cover open to close. So, I won't be going to the gym today, or go swimming before work. But the waterpark has decided to be closed on Mondays this season. I think I know which day I will be going to the gym before work. This morning, I'm out of the door around 4:30 AM. Out on the trail, I'm surprised to see three other early bird cyclists. Then I pass one of them e--bikers. He's the second I've seen out here on the trail. So far, they don't wear helmets, and they dress as if they're in a 1960s motorcycle club. This guy is wearing a knit cap, zippered jacket and long pants. It's going to be hot today, and I'm in a sleeveless shirt, shorts, and sandals. I guess I dressed for the wrong century. Sorry. In a short while, I'm onto the connecting trail. I'm about to climb a short hill and ride the length of the waterpark, further above me across a creek. Just before the short hill is a bench. In front of the bench is someone on the ground in a sleeping bag. On the way home after work, I'm back on the short block. The big trailer has been replaced by an old popup trailer tent with the top half sliced off. Saturday. After work I decide to swim at the park instead of my usual Saturday pool. After the swim, I ride to the train station next up from the nearest one. Today and tomorrow, the one train line I use between home and the other places down here I go is closed for repair. I catch a bus from that station to a station from which I can catch a train on another line. That train drops me downtown where I swing by the sporting goods supercenter. One of the brakes on my bike needs adjusting. When I get there, I'm surprised to see a line of customers waiting for bike service. It's a quick line, and a quick adjustment, and I'm headed for home.
Sunday. The days of this month have settled into a predictable pattern. Sunshine in the morning, for a swim, followed by an overcast afternoon. Today is a big day. I sneak a swim in, but I must take a bus instead of a train most of the way to the waterpark. The very section of a train route I need is shut down for repair. "Tis a short swim and I then head over to the sister's only to help take out trash and throw in a load of laundry. Then I'm off for a ride all the way back to the station from which I caught the bus. I catch the other line a few stops to another boulevard, upon which I lived some years ago. I then catch a bus perhaps 30 blocks north, during which I reapply sunscreen. I get out and ride to a park with another summer festival. I wander and make a couple of purchases before I ride toa downtown train. Pedestrian mall security still gently rousts homeless asleep on the ground. I hit up a couple of places on the mall for dinner. One is a bar and grill which appears to be closed for dinner on Sunday. The other is a downtown Chilis. They are dark, with a sign on the door. They aren't calling it quits, are they? Monday is another strange weather day. It has to be in the 50s F. in the morning...in the middle of freaking July. This works to my advantage. The waterpark is closed this season on Mondays, and the gym is having air conditioning problems, so it's the perfect day for the gym. I don't have time to put on warmer gear and I do the ride in shorts and a sleeveless shirt. The ride home is warmer. On the short block, the homeless van is gone. There's a newly arrived camper where the grimy grey one used to be. On the long street a block from my own, the homeless trailer has moved to the opposite side. A newly arrived hatchback with broken shock absorbers has also arrived.
On Thursday, I'm coming home from work along the bottom of a hill with the waterpark. On the side of the trail opposite the waterpark is a covered collection of picnic tables, with a path which leads into the bike trail. Coming down the path is a homeless guy pushing a shopping cart piled with crap. He's jerking his head and body almost as if he's dancing. Something falls out of the cart. Twenty-four hours late and I'm entering the bike trail home. A pair of local police cars are coming down the trail. I sneak around them and hook up with the connecting trail. I get up to the damaged guard rail. Just around the corner from there, parked along the busy street, is an SUV with its driver's side windows smashed out. A broken-down trailer is hitched to the back. Saturday. I make a run for a bus to work, rather than for a train to the bus, as I think I have just enough time to do so. The plan comes together. I stay at work an hour past close, and it's raining off and on, including raining with the sun out. I could head for the waterpark for a possible swim, but I'm hungry. I elect to forego swimming for a second day in a row. Yesterday morning, I decided to cook some lunch for work instead of grab a swim. Also I was tired. This afternoon, off work, I eat at a Black Eyed Pea on the way home. It's across the avenue from both a deathburger and a Chipoltle. All three establishments, regardless of their proximity to each other, have their own kind of customer culture. Black Eyed Pea is some kind of throwback to what I remember from the 1980s. Guys in pickup trucks bring grandma to eat. There is a separate senior section to the menu. I come in with bicycle shorts and hair full of chlorine and perspiration, as if from some unimaginable future. The sound system plays 1970s Elton John followed by country music. I eat and run. When I get home I do a grocery run before I hit the hay.
Sunday is a big day. Big enough. I decide to head to the sister's first to assist with some more shelving of books recently out of storage. There are actually a couple of buses I can catch which will take me almost all the way there, but I miss the most recent by three minutes. No worries. I need the exercise anyway. After the sister's, I ride to the waterpark, where I pick up the bike trail. I bypass the park because I'm headed for an annual library used book sale. It closes at 4 PM, and the waterpark is open until 5:30. To get to work, I hook up with a horse trail just off the bike trail. It takes me to one street of the corner where my shopping center is. If I stay on the horse trail instead of turn off, it takes me straight to another huge shopping center down the street, and directly to the library there. I frequented this part of town some fifteen years ago, when I worked not far away. Further down the boulevard is a high school where one of Colorado's famous school shootings took place. In 2012? The temperature outside is approaching 100 degrees F and will top out at 104 this afternoon. I've exhausted my two-liter water bottle. I go inside the library to a men's room and pour cold water on my head. I think I will find just a couple books and leave with seven. The books and myself take the horse trail back to the bike trail and back to the waterpark for a swim. Then to the train and out at a station, and to the downtown yogurt place. I top it all off with a ride all the way home. What a day.
Monday. I was going to the gym before work but ran out of time. In fact, I need to take the train just to make it to work on time. There's a homeless guy making the rounds on the platform. He asks the smattering of p[assengers, and even a transit system security officer, if they have a phone. He gets around to me. He needs to call his mom he says. I tell him I don't have a phone. The last passenger will let him use her phone, but she's boarding the train which just arrived. He follows her on, but not before yelling to someone, "I'll be back. You hear me?!" (Perhaps he can call the person he's yelling to, and let them know he will be back. But they may not have a phone either. Or else he could have just used theirs to call his mom...) He makes his call on the train, and finishes before the train leaves. He could have exited the train, but he stays on and eventually closes his eyes. Skip ahead some nine hours. I stay at work a couple of hours after close. I'm riding home along the first trail, approaching a baseball diamond in a big open field. Next to the field is a picnic table where a couple sits as it's getting dark. Suddenly, four or five inground sprinklers start up at once. They all appear to be tightly circled around the table. The couple don't appear homeless, but they climb the embankment toward a street above. It's a path I've seen homeless take. Tuesday. Well...there is a rec center just a few blocks north of where I live. Their website claims that they open at 8 AM. This would give me time to workout and make it back to an appointment with my new doctor. I ride up a side street, climb a hill, cross a busy avenue, and coast down the other side of the hill. I enter the park with the rec center. Under a tree is a tent. I hear a voice come from the direction of the tent,"...fuck off." I get to the rec center fifteen minutes early. A young female parks and rec employee is pulling weeds. I sit...and just happen to glance at a sign on the outside wall. It posts the hours...including when it opens. At 10 AM. I tell the young woman that I'm glad I looked at the sign.
I have a fine visit with my new doctor. We discuss my diet and I'm convinced it's time for another change. At work, I go to the website for the rec center where I work out on the way to work. I notice that it's now open until 9 PM. I get out of work when we close and head there for a workout. Workout problem solved in the same day. There's no reason I can't workout now after work. Right across the street from the rec center is the train. I elect to take it home. I'm climbing the ramp to the platform as I notice a couple of transit system security officers pull up, park, and get out. They climb the steps to the platform. Where disabled passengers board is a raised part of the platform. It's referred to as the "high block." She's standing there with some bags. Her head is shaved and has grey stubble, and she's in jeans and a grim brown T-shirt. She appears as if she stepped right out of the Manson Family. The officers approach the block and ask her to come down. They want to assist her is boarding the next train, and in purchasing a ticket. Come down from the high block she does and steps over to the ticket kiosks. She speaks to them purely in riddles and meaningless tangents. They continue to repeat to her that they simply want to help her board a train. They're very patient. She replies with something about, "bars of chocolate bars of chocolate bars of chocolate," and asks them if they are responsible for a tranquilizer up her ass. They ask her to take her stuff off the block. She responds by sitting down there. Rain drops begin to fall and I move down the platform under some shelter. A train going the other way pulls up and the doors open. I hear a voice such as that of the guy in the tent this morning. A gravel voice comes out of one car. "Fuckin' ass bitch fuckin' ass bitch fuckin' ass bitch!" My own train pulls up. I get on the first car. At the front, the driver comes out and asks the woman on the high block if she's getting on. Apparently not. We leave her behind, waving to the pair of officers standing and watching her.
Wednesday. I'm on the way home down the trail along the river, and out of work at a decent hour. I came off the first trail home where I rode through some rain which has let up. I'm not far past the damaged guardrail when I spot up ahead a cyclist and his bike. He's stopped on the trail, in my lane. He's unlike anyone I usually see out here. He's in a skate helmet and mirrored teardrop sunglasses. He's wiping down his bike with a cloth. (From the rain?) I pass him and smell cologne. Just when I think I've seen everything... The following morning, I'm headed in to work early. I'm opening for my coworker. It will end up being a 13 1/2-hour day as I will stay 3 1/2 hours past closing. My neighborhood streets are busy with traffic early in the morning. I make for the train station, where at dawn the homeless are collecting. I jump out at my station and decide to take the streets instead of the trail. I'm on a secluded residential street, toward a turn for a brief trip down the horse trail. On the sidewalk along the street are two toddlers on tiny bicycles, followed by both parents. It isn't even 7 AM yet. Why isn't this family still asleep? Around the corner is the horse trail. I'm no sooner on it then I'm approaching where I exit onto a street. Here at horse trail's exit is an early morning logjam of myself, a cyclist behind me, an oncoming cyclist, and a guy walking his dog. Most days I ride later in the day, and it's never this eventful. Friday. I'm applying sunscreen on my back, in front of a mirror, in a second story bedroom of my townhome. I hear crying outside, and look out to see the back end of a police cruiser right at the drive to my courtyard. When I leave my house, I see a pair of officers standing in front of a guy on the ground. He's handcuffed on his back. He appears to be resting now. I don't recognize him and may be homeless. I hit the bank before heading to another train station. I don't know what I would do this summer without the transit system. Just not enough hours in the damned day. From here, I'm only going a couple of stops, from where I will make a break for the waterpark before work.
I exit at the station, where it's becoming more common to see homeless. This morning, a curious guy is here. He has some possessions strewn out on a bench. He stands with a small dog on a leash. The leash is tied to one of his two rainbow-colored suspenders. It will be another day threatening to reach 100 degrees F., and he's in jeans. I see white hair roots appearing below bright honey blonde, almost red matted hair on his head. He asks me if I know where the nearest convenience store is. He tells me he wants toothpaste and a toothbrush. I point across the highway to what I believe is a gas station. He says he can't see it because he doesn't have his glasses. He then proceeds to tell me that he was shot in an artery in his leg (the femoral artery, which I help him pronounce) and also injured his foot as well as his finger being shot. He alludes that this happened to him during the US capture of Manuel Noriega in Panama, during the G. H. W. Bush administration. He asks me if I remember his capture. I do. I don't mention that I don't recall a single shot being fired. I ask him what unit he was in. He mentions a "2nd Marine Platoon" in which he was a corpsman. His "port base" he says was Atlanta. He then asks me how old I am. I reply and he then mentions that he's just a couple of years older. Next, he asks me if I remember a football game between the Denver Broncos and the 49ers four decades ago. Then he wants to know if Ft. Carson is straight west of here. When I reply that I don't know, he asks me if I'm from around here. He says he has a job there, and a son who "got some drugs." The son is in jail and he tells me he needs a "civil attorney." (Not a criminal attorney?) I ask him what job he has. He tells me he will be working at a cemetery. After the waterpark, I take 15 minutes for lunch at a deathburger. I sit near a guy on his phone. He's talking to someone about being a former significant other "for 7 years. I'm 30," he confesses, and mentions something about the court.
After work on Friday. I detour to a grocery on the way home. From there, I take a route past a small park to reconnect with the trail. The park has a sheltered area with picnic tables which has been popular with the homeless. As I ride past the park, the entire shelter has been demolished. Is this part of an effort to keep away homeless? The following day is another Saturday. After work, I do a short swim in some rain and ride up to a big shopping center off the trail. I'm climbing the incline on my bike to the top, when I'm passed by...the Park Ranger on his electric bike. On Sunday, I get in a quick swim at the waterpark, while the sun is out. Then it's off to the sister's to shelve some more books. From there, I backtrack to a Chilis not far from there. I'm briefly on the trail along the river. Right at a spot where river surfers ride is a middle-aged guy. He's out in the middle of the river. He's not covered in grime or wearing something which looks donated. He's in swim trunks, just standing and running his hands over his face and through his hair. Shortly, I get to Chilis. There's a sign posted in the lobby, asking patrons to leave both their weapons and their disputes outside the establishment. On the door is an announcement for a program described as "Tip A Cop." I have no idea what this program is about, but there are cops inside the place when I arrive. One is wearing some kind of medal. It turns out that they are accepting "tips" which individual officers then appear to donate to the Special Olympics. I guess you could say...case closed. When I pulled up to the place it began raining. When I'm inside, it pours. It's still raining when I head out. I decide to ride shirtless as I don't have my rain poncho along. I get out onto the trail for a ride in the rain. The middle of July and there's a cold rain falling. There's a small outdoor art festival I could have gone to, but it's no doubt getting rained on as it packs up. I get up to a small golf course. Golfers have been playing in the rain which is letting up. A young soaking wet guy covered in a shade of grey stands and watches them from behind the split rail fence. His belongings are spread out on a bench chopped out of a big log just off the trail. I do a ride all the way up to the downtown yogurt place. I've discovered a pizza by the slice place next door. The contrast between Chilis and here is in the imagery. Back at Chilis, a woman younger than myself stood with a walker. Weighing close to 300 lbs., she tried walking with her small feet under her enormous legs by taking quick steps to keep her balance. Along the top of the walls are multiple screens, each televising a sporting event. Here at the pizza place is a current hippie decor. A group of guys comes in, who I assume is from the condo which stretches the length of the block across the street. Each one wears a white buttoned-down shirt. An employee asks one of them if they are together. Someone replies, "Uh, yeah, we don't know what to do."
On Monday, I'm on the way to work, right back at the same spot across from the golf course. The clothes on the log bench are now folded, and some are on a hangar on a tree. Monday is another late one at work. It's around 9:30 PM when I'm coming up the block with the open field. The first homeless camper shell and separate vehicle have returned, and are parked mid-block. I came through here this morning and don't remember them being here. The following evening, another vehicle and tent will have joined them. On Tuesday, instead of a late start, I get an early start. I have a new diet from my new doctor. It includes a lot of fruit, and I need to hit the supermarket along the way to the waterpark. I end up at a big park below the waterpark. It's after 9 AM and a cool breeze is blowing. I'm sitting on a picnic table under the shade of a big tree. I'm eating strawberries. If I didn't feel as though I were in a TV commercial, it would be perfect. I watch parents with their children out on the trail. I watch parks and rec guys running around. And I have a fine swim. The following morning, I must go in early to cover for my coworker. I hit the train station around 5:30 AM. A homeless guy is wandering one of the tracks. It's a bit of a chilly morning, and in his jacket and camouflaged pants, he's pulling weeds. My train arrives, and he gets on with the rest of us. He spots my bike and suggests to me that the trains should have bike racks just as the busses do. Because he claims he was hit by a bike moving on a train. He smells from six feet away. He believes that someone should make this suggestion "either to security or the proper authorities," he tells me. He speaks with a voice like gravel. He sits down and gets up at every stop to see where we are. On Wednesday's ride home from work, I'm coming to the point where I exit the trail. Just across the river, on top of a hill, is the Levitt Pavillion. A live band is going on up there. I exit the trail and cross the bridge over the river. I'm at the first turn across the railroad tracks. At the corner is a sign pointing toward the block along the open field. It reads, "Levitt Pavillion on Street Parking." ...really. The cars have plenty of room on this street. There is only one homeless camper shell, one tent, and a newly arrived camper with a windshield smashed on the driver's side. I watch a pair of young women in crop tops, skirts, and stockings. They are walking to the park holding hands. At the back of the camper shell, a woman sits on a cooler. A guy with white hair and a beard sticking out is watching a pair of concert goers who have just walked past him on the sidewalk. Friday, I'm coming down the first trail home from work. I'm approaching a bridge over the creek, one of many through woods and parks. Just beyond the bridge are a pair of municipal police cruisers and at least a couple of officers. It appears as if they have just arrived. In a small clump of woods next to a big field are four teenagers. One kid has a branch in his hand. From what little I hear, the one with the branch threatened someone and mentions that he thinks it's funny that someone took it as a threat. One of the officers explains that his threat is considered a felony. These are white kids, and around here their swagger is bigger the extent of their menace. After a good hour, I'm off the trail and back along the curb with the open field. The camper had moved across the street this morning, leaving trash on the sidewalk where it was. A newly arrived gold homeless hatchback from a previous decade now held point position along the curb. Late in the afternoon now, all homeless vehicles have vanished, except for a pickup truck with its bed piled high with junk.
Sunday. In the afternoon, I'm at a pizza place for an early dinner. I catch a brief sound bite from behind the counter. Someone who may be a manager tells another, "It's not just about pizza. It's about babysitting idiots." I don't know about that. These employees appear to me to be competent enough. Rather, it's the customers who come in assorted flavors of wacky. One guy comes in for a slice. He's telling someone outside that he will help them deal with whatever, and they should just wait there. The sound system is playing the classic song Spooky. The guy picks out a slice of pizza from a case. "Yeah, that slice is good just the way it is. Just like that. I used to have this album," he tells the employee. This day actually began with a ride straight to the sister's, followed by a short swim at the waterpark, and then a train and a ride here. The sister is almost out of shelf space until her husband can build more shelves. Before I hit the waterpark, I stop into a Dairy Queen. Its clientele is a bit different than any other burger place, it's the crowd who appreciates all the ice cream party needs. The patrons in here appear to be lower-middle class. It's the sister's neighborhood, not far from the old money estates I ride past on the way to work. Kids sit in a booth, the daughter with a terrible hair dye job, verbally engrossed with something on one of their phones. In the next booth, the parents may as well be in another country. A middle-aged guy brings in his aging mother so they may get in on some sundaes. The marquee at the waterpark reads, "Today is Lifeguard Appreciation Day." I get on the train at one end of a car. A young woman is at the opposite end with her own bike. She's in a hot pink top and long hot pink Lycra pants. At one point during my short ride, she comes all the way across the car to where I am. She appears to have trouble speaking, but I hear her tell me her brakes are new. She has an old BMX bike with brakes which certainly appear to be brand new. If I'm not mistaken, BMX bikes don't come with brakes, so this one's customized. She says out loud the name of the station where she's getting out. It's the next one. She carries her bike off and another passenger joins her. I watch them walk together to one bus gate with a bus before they walk to another gate where another bus is waiting. On the way to the pizza joint, I'm just outside downtown where a few blocks are having an "Underground Music Festival." It appears that "undergrounds" translates to "local." The stages are at separate individual venues. One band is on a stage in front of a bar patio full of empty seats. One song peters out as they launch into another. After my slice of pizza, I sneak next door to use the men's room at the yogurt place. The pizza joint's men's room is occupied. From there I ride home to drop off some stuff before doing a grocery run. On the way home, I approach a passenger train crossing next to a street corner. Just down from the corner is a small white homeless trailer. It has one patch which has been spray painted camouflage. I end up behind a homeless guy walking down the street who turns toward the trailer. A couple of guys are revving the throttle of a dirt bike next to the trailer. A couple of guys revving a dirt bike engine next to a trailer with unfinished camouflaged spray paint. It's an omen I believe we should carry with us into a new month.
