...her husband died from COVID, she traveled...to the United States from Columbia... Around her, the street in the northwest Denver [hipster] neighborhood...is unrecognizable, a result of...efforts to help the nearly 30,000 Venezuelan migrants who've arrived in Denver the past year. Cars can hardly pass because both sides of the street are lined with tents...outside one of five hotels...to house 2,700 migrants. The migrant encampments are growing in other parts of the city... ...due to cold weather...families stay [inside] the hotels indefinitely. ...some families refused, choosing to stay outside with the belongings they've acquired... ...at a hotel in Aurora, residents who pay a weekly rate said they were ordered to move out to make way for...migrants... "That did not come from our direction." [said] a Denver Human Services spokesman. [One migrant] had been travelling for years, through Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Guatemala, Ecuador and Mexico. The children walked through the jungle and had to cross dangerous rivers. - Washington Park Profile, 1/1/2024
...the city council voted to redevelop the low-income, senior apartment complex...to activate the area as a "northern gateway" into downtown... The city hired...a trauma-informed housing navigation company... ...the CEO...said..."if we do not have the ability to pay for rent, then no one's moving." ...for the women...with an average monthly income of $1,528... There are no...comparable...rents...from $300 for a studio...to $450 for a two-bedroom. ...the fair market for a 1-bedroom...is $1,538." [Some] residents...need certain home setups for medical equipment... ...getting housing choice vouchers..."we can't even...reset the password without it taking three to four hours." ...to apply for voucher waitlists is electronic...not accessible to many seniors. "...going through these barriers. Somehow, it's like a test." ...the last time the housing choice voucher waitlist was open was in 2012. "...people do end up waiting years and years to...get on a list, especially the (housing choice voucher) list - and then additional years...to receive the voucher." ...there were problems with the waitlist software. "...there were...issues with the property management software..." "The public housing process is not accessible to (the) community, and specifically not seniors." Seniors...don't...have a team of housing experts helping them... "We'll get these 12 women taken care of, but what about the other seniors?" ...application fees, deposits...disposal services, packing supplies, packing assistance, moving support and cleanout assistance... - Littleton Independent, week of 12/28/2023
Aurora simply shuffles hundreds of homeless people from camp to camp... Douglas County buses them here and to Denver, Denver shuffles them to Aurora and other suburbs. The suburbs shuffle them back.
...the city won't spend general fund dollars to operate or maintain the campus. ...a still unknown amount of money. "...the housing comes with conditions." "The location...advantageous"...separated from nearby housing... ...to find employment before they are found housing. "They should work on both. It's rough on the streets. You don't know who's good and who's bad." - Sentinel, 1/25/2024
"...it's a point of connection. You feel something...curiosity, and you want to know more. ...we try to give opportunities...to go deeper with that. ...I often have a desire to feel a sense of belonging, especially in a predominantly white state. ...we're here...we break stereotypes...we want our stories heard." - Westword, 1/4-10/2024
"Our town seemed deserted. A...run-down mansion...mansion became a venue for punk rock bands. Empty warehouses became artist studios...dive bars and diners deep within the city became our gathering places, our churches where we defined our own religions...when Denver was our city." ...the streets of what is now known as LoHi were quiet and empty... ...10,000 square feet...rented...for $150 a month. ...the whisper of a renaissance is blowing back... "...the neighborhood needed it back - art has to be in these neighborhoods. ...we needed a place here for people to congregate. ...that sense of loss, memory and history of wonderful simple times."
"...a particular breed of Colorado...becoming less and less common...as developers snatch up parcels of land. a community area where you can grab swag, buy a CD from someone the block or a piece of local artwork..." ...auctions for local artists or even yoga sessions in the parking lot... - Westword, 1/18-24/2024
"...Colorado was genuinely a boom town for ten years. You can kind of see now that it has become a race to the bottom. ...you really don't see any of the mom-and-pop dispensaries around anymore." "We were told that if you build it, the Philip Morrises of the world would come in and buy us out for millions." - Westword, 1/11-17/2024
...the population...stood at about a million. ...most...were Moslem, Greek, or Armenian... ...narrow, filthy streets...packs of wild dogs...for centuries had patrolled the city... ...most streets still turned to mud in the frequent rainstorms, or coughed dry dust...as winds blew through the city. Foreign communities had grown up...and lived their own lives, separately from the rest of the city. ...French was the language of legation parties and entertainments; Greek, not Turkish, was the language of the streets. - A Peace to End All Peace, by D. Fromkin, 1989
Matthew Phipps... Sheil's brain...encompassed many...ideas...in the Europe of his day: socialism, evolution, new messiahs, conquest, Schopenhauer, industrialism, the yellow peril, revolutions, orgies of blood, overpopulation, Nietzscheism, spiritualism, eugenics, insanity, disease...and "the biology of war"...ingredients that...make life in the West such a heady experience. - Aldiss
"They would tighten up, they weren't as comfortable, and they weren't sitting as long because emotionally, they didn't want to be there. ...I have all these male clients who are like, 'I never want to work with a man again.' They don't have to butch up. They can just exist and have feelings." - Westword, 1/16-31/2024
...Aurora's third interim police chief in little more than a year...stepped down... ...a hastily called ceremony... ...lapel pinnings... ...those who received the announcement and could make it on Monday morning. ...a couple of weeks ago...trials against...cops and medics... ...calls for his resignation. He stayed. Last week...tearfully talked about heading back to Austin to be with his wife and son. ...Monday...announced he would take a leadership role...where he once worked. ...Tuesday...announced he turned down the job because of "politics and power struggles." "Do not spend time on the haters." ...he said. Change doesn't have to be hard. Critics are not necessarily haters. - Sentinel, 1/25/2024
New Year's Eve. This long weekend I've been doing a lot of eating out. By myself, with the sister this afternoon. I have a date with my lady for an early dinner New Year's Day. I'm still adjusting from three days of open to close at work. The sister and I went to the gym this morning. We had breakfast out. We ate lunch out. Now I'm out for dinner. At the Vietnamese place behind where I live. I walk in behind a couple, both of whom are so overweight that the guy has trouble walking. At one table are 3 Caucasian couples all in jerseys for the city's football team. In a seat at one end of the dining room is another Caucasian guy, this one is blonde dreadlocks. At a table next to me is a gay guy entertaining his party of groovy college types. He asks one female if she wants to see his "really cool Christmas present?" He insists she close her eyes. Somewhere in the distance are a handful of fireworks before I'm off to bed. I awake to a message from my lady. She wants to get together late in the afternoon. The sister is picking me up at ten for New Year's brunch and a visit to the newly refurbished art museum. I've been meaning to get to the supermarket this weekend. I've just been too tired. I jump on a bus on my corner. It's a little after 6 AM, and there is no fare to pay before sunrise this New Year's morning. There's a young guy with hair past his shoulders, going to work in his security uniform. Someone one in front of me is slouched over asleep. I jump out and do the short walk to the supermarket. Sure enough, they're open regular hours. I grab a few items and I'm back out at a stop for the bus. I'm there a few minutes when some guy comes walking along with a cigarette in his hand. When the bus appears, he asks me if I need help getting up. (?) Back home, I'm soon out with the sister again, for a brunch at the art museum. I still don't have a Christmas gift for my lady, until we visit the expansive gift shop. The sister steers me away from a small mushroom-shaped light. I pick out a compact makeup mirror and a big winter scarf, the colors of which just happen to match the hat I have for her birthday gift. 'Twas on the 11th of November. Then I'm home again. This day has just been go, go, go and not long after I'm back home my lady arrives with my own Christmas gift. She looks fantastic as usual. I open mine, which is a thin Lycra top. We head down the street to our favorite Mexican place. Then, out at her car, she opens her gifts. She loves them and tells me that no one ever got her a hat. She's planning to visit her mom in Mexico in February. She wants to get together again on Valentine's Day. We get back to my place and attempt my idea, which is to take a photo of us in front of the lights around my gate. When she heads off to her job, I take my lights down.
Tuesday. It's 2024 now. No more Christmas and no more New Year's. No more Christmas tree and no more outdoor lights. And I am right back to getting my late starts in the mornings. I still have unfinished tasks from last month. This morning, I have time for only one of those tasks. I'm stopping by my bank to order more checks. Something about going into my bank and dealing with a favorite teller, instead of ordering over the phone. It's turns out that new checks now cost a cool $50. ...and fifty-seven cents. Then, it's best speed to the stop for the bus to work. I'm soon over the train and the highway. I do a U-turn into a turn lane. I make a left onto a side street, which is blocked by a couple standing in the middle of my lane. A vehicle is in front of me and must enter the other lane to make its way around them. The woman sounds as if she's drunk. The guy attempts to take her by the arm and take her out of the street. She raises an empty water bottle to smack him. This is obstacle #1. Obstacle #2 is further down the street. A middle-aged resident is out for a stroll...in the street. In the wrong lane. I make my way around both of these. Obstacle #3 is a vehicle which stops at a curb ahead of me to drop off a passenger. I swing around this as well. The following morning, if I take the same bus again, I will have time to complete another of my leftover tasks. I can purchase more stamps. Today's obstacle is three-in-one. I'm out the door and at my corner. When the light is red, I turn down the sidewalk where I get across the street across a kind of crosswalk only for pedestrians, no cars. As soon as I turn that direction, in front of me is 1) an electric scooter, 2) a woman with a stroller at the bus stop on this corner, and 3) a trio of two homeless men and a woman squatting on the cement. One of the men is picking at something on the sidewalk. I make my way past this anonymous collusion and am at the pedestrian crosswalk. I never use the button for the red light. I simply wait for a break in the traffic. Suddenly I am joined by a Caucasian cyclist. He has no helmet, but a grey beard and head of grey hair in a ponytail. He presses the button for the red light. Before it can stop traffic, I make my way across through a break in the traffic. The guy follows me down the long street a block from my own. At the end, he goes his way and I go mine.
When I get to work on Thursday, my coworker tells me that I do not have to come in to work a hour early on Friday. Friday morning, I get the call. 'Can I come in, not an hour, but three hours early?' I have just enough time to hightail it to the stop for a bus to work. No time to make breakfast before I leave. I hit a couple of fortunate red lights, both at busy intersections along the way. My last leg is along a residential street near a private university. I pass a pedestrian on the sidewalk. I see, and hear, him using an electric toothbrush on his teeth. A couple of minutes before we close, a customer drops off. Taking care of her leaves me with enough time and an excuse to grab a sandwich across the street before the bus comes along. I eat and exit where my bike sits directly outside. At an outdoor table next to the exit is a guy, out here in the cold in a simple hoodie. He's fidgeting with something on the table. It's a glass pipe. He lights it up as I ride the few short yards to the bus stop. At the stop, another guy wanders up. He waits for the bus with me before suddenly running into the Xfinity store right next to the stop. he returns as the pipe guy comes along. He stands next to the store as he relights the pipe and begins coughing. The bus arrives and collects all of us. This is yet another payday which has blown past. The following day, on my ride to work, I'm headed for an underpass out on the trail. I'm headed past the city dump. It's sometime after 7 AM and a convoy of garbage trucks are headed across the bridge I am travelling under. I get to work in jig time and head across the street to a breakfast place before we open. Outside the entrance are a trio of young Caucasian guys with leftovers in hand. Their shooting the breeze, saying their goodbyes. I don't remember the last time I saw such a scene from a bygone age. Not in my own neighborhood or anyplace else. After work, I do a ride all the way home. I change trails where a concrete barrier has blocked the trail north of here, on the east side of the Platte River. This late afternoon, someone has attached a sign to a broken branch on top of the barrier. The sign was made with a computer printer, and inserted to a plastic sleeve with holes punched along one side. "When will the barrier be moved?" it reads. "The trail has been open for weeks and yet the barrier remains. Signed, interested trail user." Another sign made the same way is meant to hang on the other side of the barrier. This sign reads, "Please move this barrier!" It's the first signs I've seen posted which were not written by homeless. Yes, a gate across this trail further north has been unlocked for some weeks. I've simply been using the trail across the river.
And then it's Sunday. After breakfast and a workout with the sister, I'm headed for the copy shop. I've completed a handful of mix tapes, audio cassettes with music released during the year which just ended. I've also completed labels for these cassettes. I need to make a few copies of said labels. So, I walk to a bus, take a bus to a train, and a train to the next stop. I step out and cross from the station to a shopping center. Or rather what's left of it. Part of it was sold some years ago and turned into condominiums. I don't recall the last time I was here this year, but another block of the center is up for lease. A dollar store and a longtime hardware store have left. There are still, among other stores, a Copy Max and Office Max, and a supermarket. I grab some items from the supermarket and sit and have lunch in there. I inquire about transit system ride coupons. I am told that the transit system is phasing them out and won't be delivering them anymore. No shit? I appreciate someone telling me something. After I eat, I go next door to the Copy Max. This place has for many years been an excellent substitute for Kinkos. Years ago, I tried a Kinkos downtown. It absolutely wasn't the same establishment I knew years before that. I make my copies. I inquire about a men's room. The is no longer a men's room open to the public in here. I inquire about cases to put audio cassettes into. I'm told that, if what's on the shelf isn't adequate, to go online. I find pencil bags which will do just fine. I go back to the supermarket for a perishable item. I inquire about their men's room. The restrooms are all closed for the moment. I walk across the parking lot to a deathburger. I order a drink and am allowed to use their men's room. I head back to the station, to a train to the next stop, and grab a bus home. Late in the afternoon, I hear gunshots down the street from my place.
Wednesday is windy. On my ride to work, I have a brief tailwind which blows me down the long street a block from my home. Friday. On the way to work, I stop by my neighborhood supermarket. I've gone back to having salads for lunch. The lettuce and half the bananas I purchased are first coming to work with me, and then coming home with me. Across the street at my back, I pick up more quarters. I already have the first roll which I purchased for myself. I can't remember the last time I bought coins. I discovered this week, or last week, something which I haven't seen in the 33 years I've been living in this town. I believe it was on the first of this month. The transit system has lowered its fares. Lowered them. Regular fare is 25 cents lower, down from $3. I also grab more dollar bills. Lower fares, and no more ride coupons. After these errands, my only option now is to head for the stop, for the bus to work. I make it with no time for a snack from the cafe across the avenue from the bus stop. I go inside and order a diet soda. I only have some ten or fifteen minutes. I'm waiting for my soda as I watch my waitress, and other wait staff, disappear behind a cloud of university students being served and waiting to pay at the register. Laughing and chattering young adults. Groovy students surely studying something groovy. Research projects., and other details of life at the private university next to the bus stop. I decide to go up to the register. My waitress has my soda to go. She doesn't charge me for it. After work, I'm out just late enough to miss the bus home. I ride to the train station, where I have a half hour wait for the train. It's a rare pause in my nonstop go-go life. I don't remember the last time I paused to take in the lights toward the west from the train platform. Saturday after work. The sub-zero temps have arrived. Late drop offs keep me until just after close. May as well take the bus. I run across the street to the bakery for a quick snack before the bus stop. I watch the Jesus guy leaving. Haven't seen him since this past summer. The train does come, and whips us three stops ahead. I get out and make my way toward my bus home. The door opens on another car of my train. A guy with long grey hair sticks his head out and asks no one in particular, "What station is this?"
Two hours. Not a surprise, though it didn't strike me that I was moving much slower than the usual hour and a half ride to work. And it could be a lot worse. This week I've been putting on my ski pants over long underwear. There's perhaps less than an inch of snow on the ground. And by the time I get up at 4:30 AM, the temperature is 0 degrees F. Over my balaclava, this early morning I have a chance to put on my ski mask this season. I also have a chance to degree rate my new ski mittens. On the ride, I'm not required to ball my fists inside the gloves too many times. I endorse The North Face. I get to work some 12 to 15 minutes before the bus would have dropped me off here. I stash my bike inside and cross the boulevard to a breakfast place. I left my house in the dark and silence. I walk into a restaurant with a din of chattering customers. One of the assistant managers who also rides his bike asks me with trepidation if I rode to work. I answer in the affirmative. he gives me a sympathetic look. I'm brought a diet soda. With the sun now up and my beverage, I feel my blood once again begin to flow. The day is busy in spite of the cold and goes flying past. I get out of work a little late. Not late enough to catch the bus this time. I head out for the train station, into the below zero cold. I get to the station, and I don't have the half hour wait that I did yesterday. My train is here in 10 minutes. Again it whips up three stops ahead, where again a bus home waits for me. The train follows the highway, past a section of dark wood fence. The kind of fence which separates countless back yards. It was last weekend I passed this same stretch of fence, with my sister in her car. Then, I spotted perhaps 30 or 40 tiny houses. These are constructed for the homeless. This group of tiny homes are located, if I'm not mistaken, where an unfinished cul de sac sits behind the fence. I've been there when the cul de sac, surrounded by empty lawn, was at one time ringed with homeless tents before they were swept. There are often homeless tents outside the fence, on the sidewalk along the highway. This afternoon, the section of fence is down and the homes are clearly visible. Meanwhile, at the train station where I disembark, the driver of my bus home appears to be a twentysomething with braces. She's clad only in a hoodie. Out of a small Tupperware dish she's eating something which smells absolutely delicious. I tell her so and ask her if it's Indian. She replies, it's Ethiopian. So is she.
Sunday. I elect not to hit the gym. I do a supermarket run. It's below freezing outside. My home is noticeably chilly inside. I'm warm enough in bed, but I must dress warm in the house. Saturday at work, the heating system was unable to get the inside temperature above 62 degrees F. On Monday I decide to forgo the ride to work. It's minus two degrees F. when I leave, and during the day drops to minus seven. There's a little more snow on the ground. It's the road conditions I'm not sure of. And I'm not sure I can dress warm enough for the ride. And, I get a call to come in an hour early to work. I put on a warmer winter coat and rush out the door. There's a stop for a bus to work at the opposite end of my street from the stop for a bus to the supermarket. I'm out there, and I'm unsure if I made it out here in time for the bus. I'm on the corner where I can se down the street, a few short yards from the stop. I once stood here waiting for this bus when one of my neighborhood's intrepid youth, no one I had seen before, pulled up to tease me about 'wanting crack?' I remove my gloves to dig my phone out of my bag. Frostbite feels as if it's already working on my fingers. According to the time on my phone, the last bus is long gone. I dial the transit system hotline. 'Twas my understanding that this bus runs once an hour. The woman at the other end claims that it's on the half hour. I doublecheck with her. There will be another here in twenty minutes? She confirms. Indeed there is. I wait for almost twenty minutes before I again remove a glove. I am pulling my phone back out when I spot the bus emerging from a haze of fine falling snow. I hold my phone in one hand. With the other, without a glove, I carry my bag the few yards to the bus stop.
The bus dops me at the train station. One sign announcing train arrivals at the station lists a couple trains as "cancelled". I've never seen this before. I consider getting back on my bus, which will be here for a limited few minutes before it proceeds on its way. It will take me to my connecting bus in the event my train, for reasons as yet unknown and suggested by a cryptic sign, never arrives. First, the train which the sign claims is cancelled pulls into the station. Then my train comes. As it pulls to a stop, I notice a young homeless guy on the platform. In the subzero air and floating flurries, this guy is in skintight leggings under shorts. He has on a hoodie with the hood off his head. His shaggy hair and beard make him appear almost as if he's a caveman. With him is a dog on a leash. They don't board the train but return under a shelter along the track. I'm in the train car for a few seconds before I realize it has no heat at all. I can see my breath. The train drops me a couple on stations along. I've missed the last bus and elect to walk to the cafe across the avenue from the stop for my bus to work. I call the transit system hotline back to make sure my bus, for some reason, hasn't been cancelled. It hasn't. It's on time. And this lady explains that a couple of trains were cancelled due to a switching problem on the track. And also, not every transit system driver made it to work this morning. After I get to work, as on Saturday, again the heating system inside the store can't get the temperature up above 62 degrees F. I end up putting my long underwear back on, under my pants. Then I put on a sweater. Eventually I put my coat back on. The day is something of a new experience. I keep the heat in my home down to keep the bill down. My home was cold this weekend. The store is cold today. It's a curious and forlorn kind of experience. The following morning is, not simply a horse, but an entire herd of a different color. It's weel above freezing. I decide to do one more day with the transit system. Let the snow melt. After work, I decide to dash across the boulevard instead of use the crosswalk. I have one foot in the street when I'm met by a vehicle making a U-turn. Then I'm across at the bus stop. I don't have this kind of interaction with traffic when I'm on the bike. These are the perils of a pedestrian. Bus to train to station, and I'm at the gate for my bus home. This driver does what some do who are new to this route. He realizes he missed the turn for the gate. This station can be a bit confusing. He circles the station and comes back around, and pulls up to a stop.
Wednesday. Yesterday I made an appointment online to meet with someone to do my taxes. I qualify for free tax help. I always did but only discovered so in the past few years. Then I stopped in at my investment broker to find out when my annual statement from them will be ready. It won't be ready until at least a couple of weeks after the appointment I made that morning. I'm at work when I send an email to the tax place to cancel the appointment. When I get home from work, I make a new appointment. This morning, I'm back out on my bike. I turn onto the long street a block from my own. There are a handful of vehicles parked along one curb. behind them is a familiar homeless camper. It's small, a dirty cream color, and appears as if it drove here straight from 1982. I forget to swing by my neighborhood bank for more ones. So, I ride to the train station, for a train to another branch of my bank. Walking the length of the platform, up and down and back and forth, is a homeless guy. He's checking the trash cans over and over. He walks out onto the track and grabs a weed. He put the weed into a small plastic Ziploc bag. After work, perhaps for the first time this week, I ride all the way home. Detour off trail. Up the narrow street, busy because it traverses several major avenues. I'm home when I get the call. I will be working all day tomorrow. My alarm wakes me up at 4 AM. I'm out of the door at 5. Even at this hour, my neighborhood streets have traffic. I would have liked to leave earlier. I'm through the streets I came home over just 12 hours ago. On the trail and right off again, up and over the train tracks and highway, headed across town. Down a tree-lined street with campus residences. I turn into a short bike lane across campus, past a lone student. I forget to check the time on a clock tower. I pull up to the bus stop and take off my gloves. When I glance up the boulevard, the bus is already on its way. Had I been a single minute later, I'd be here for another hour. Some fifteen or twenty minutes later, I'm sitting in a breakfast place across he boulevard from work. At one table are three grey-haired guys staring at their menus. At another is a white-haired guy in a sweater vest.
Friday. Again I get the call. Can I come in two hours early? Sure. I leave the house without breakfast. No time to stop across the avenue from the bus stop to get it there. After work, I'm headed for the trail, on an asphalt path along a split rail fence coming out of the old money neighborhood. I spot a woman walking her dog, and I slow way down. She sees me and stops with her dog. I slowly pass her, and she says, "You're welcome." Her Doberman does not attempt to kill me. Around a couple of corners and I'm out on the trail. Shortly, I reach the end where it intersects with the connecting trail. The concrete divider. Which has blocked this end of the trail on this side of the river for most of last year. Upon which someone placed a sign asking when it shall be removed. This barrier is finally gone. Along the way home, this evening strikes me as the perfect time to stop at my neighborhood grocery. The following afternoon after work, I stop at a different grocery for an item my own doesn't carry. Unlocking my bike after coming out, a guy in a motorized wheelchair is parked next to my bike. It's the same spot where he pulled up as I was going inside. He asks me about mt seat cover, about my helmet. 'Do I have a light?' he wants to know. I tell him that the sun is still up. He speaks almost in a whisper. This is all that's left of his voice. He strikes me as someone who lives with senior residents in an apartment tower next to the supermarket. I wonder why he's out here in the chill, with no coat and his fruit drink? Was he asking me questions, getting ready to ask for change?
Sunday. It's some 40 or 50 degrees warmer than last Sunday. After breakfast and a trip to the gym with the sister, she drops me back home. I'm out on the bike I take to work, of to the sporting goods supercenter, and its intrepid bike shop. The high gear shift sticks and the brake cable on the same side of the handlebars is just the opposite, and both need adjusting. First, I swing by my downtown pizza place for the first time since the summer. There's a viaduct trail from the pizza place, which swings along the west side of downtown, and ends up at the north corner. Right at the supercenter. I'm soon right where I expect to be. behind a line of skiers waiting to get their skis waxed. The line moves fast. A tech asks me what I need. I mention the cables, and ask if it'd time to replace the back tire. He says yes, he notices cracks in the rubber. Ha, so did I. I also need a new chain. It should be done by Tuesday. Not bad. I collect the pouches from the frame and place them, along with gloves and helmet and seat cover so admired by the guy in the wheelchair yesterday. I put them all in the bag I brought along in case I needed it for just this reason. I hike back over the train tracks and down to the train platform. A train pull in, and a couple of derelicts step out. One has long grey hair and appears organized. The other is young, and this guy slowly moves past me as some kind of wasted ghost. Eyelids drooping and mouth open, he turns and floats back the way he came. A third steps out and makes her way toward the end of the station. She's loud. "You...stole...my...shit!" she admonishes. no one. This rail station is next to the downtown big deal commuter hub. Inside a minute, she's surrounded by four transit system security officer and a supervisor.
The following day is another Monday. Somehow another Monday. We're half finished with the month. I stop at the bank before work. This time, not to withdraw, but deposit money back into my account. I have some kind of wastewater bill from the city. Don't ask me. And I await a bike repair. From the bank, I decide to ride to a stop for the bus to work. Again, I just make it as it's coming down the boulevard. I pull out brand-new ones, and accidently put one too many into the fare box. I get a day pass. And I will have a chance to use it on the way home. The customers are plentiful this afternoon. I decide to get dinner from the Thai place next door. I always tease the staff about their flat screen TV. "Are these pictures of Thailand?" I always ask. Only I spot what I believe is a shot of Ankor Wat, which is in Cambodia. I mention it to the young woman who takes my order. She tells me that Khmer and Thai cultures are very close, and people like to retire in Thailand because it's less expensive to live there. It sounds as if she has no knowledge of the Khmer Rouge. I stay at work again just late enough to catch the bus. When I step om board, the driver tells me I will hear some "silly jokes" from him. He sounds as if he has speech trouble, perhaps neurological. We pull up to a stop with no light. (All) I (can) see (is) a pair of shoes," he loudly exclaims. A couple of homeless guys come aboard. He asks them, at these "dark stops" to alert the driver with a light. "All I could see were your shoes." They are engaging and compliant for homeless, as opposed to silent and oblivious. Some other guy steps aboard in the university district, in his hipster gear instead of carrying a sleeping bag. We stop at a busy intersection. Traffic to our left gets a green arrow to turn left. Our driver begins to proceed through our red light before he stops himself. "Whoa, that's not our light." One of the homeless guys ironically accuses him out loud of being drunk. He begins pressing every button on his panel with prerecorded messages. One tells us not to eat or drink on the bus. The rest are all messages pertaining to a particular train line. 'When parking at the baseball stadium, be sure to use lot such and such.' We approach the street with the train station. He begins to speak so loudly into his microphone that it hurts our ears. As some kind of feverish tour guide, he tells us how horses traversed the street during the previous century. If we look close enough, he claims, we can see the old horse trail. The hipster college guy is entertained.
I get home Tuesday evening, and I have an email alerting me that my bike is ready to be picked up. I also have the bill for my annual life insurance premium. I need to pick up the bike this morning, and swing by the bank to put some cash in my checking for the premium. Since last Sunday, the bike I ride to work and back has been replaced by another I have at home. I put the pouches from the one in the shop onto the frame of the other. I take the other back downstairs. When I'm upstairs again...the phone rings. I already know who it is. I won't be picking up my bike from the sporting goods supercenter. I won't be going to the bank. No one but my coworker ever calls me. I answer my phone and she asks me to come in 2 hours early. I go back downstairs and bring the other bike back up. The pouches go back onto the frame. And I am out the door. I forget that banks don't open until 9 AM. I arrive at my neighborhood bank. They still don't open before 9. I'm off to the stop for a bus to work. I grab breakfast at the diner across the street from the bus stop when I get there. I work my day with extra hours, and when I get home, I remember something before I go to sleep. I forgot to take a check to my investment broker at the beginning of this week. When I get up on Thursday, I have no phone call from the coworker. I am off this morning on the adventure originally scheduled the previous day. Again, I leave with time to get where I'm going before work, instead of a late start. I leave the house sometime after 7 AM and catch a bus across the street. A stop I used to frequent so early that I would catch the first bus that ran in the morning. Right here. That was...shit, ten years now. I'm not usually on this or any bus at this hour in the morning. I'm headed downtown to the sporting goods supercenter. On a bench in the shelter is a zebra-striped blanket. The one which pulls up is packed. Teenagers in bell bottoms and derelicts with collapsable shopping carts. The bus empties out at the train station. A trio of transit system security officers are at the bus stop. I don't spot any homeless.
You were likely in search of something when you picked up this issue... Presumably you're a cyclist... ...a racer, tourer, cyclomuter (bike commuter)...you immediately start searching for the 'next'...better cyclomuting route to work... - Cycling West, Winter 2024
The train is also everyone for themselves to find a seat. It whips us to the downtown central hub. I step out and again, I see no homeless. Transit system security is here as well. I walk a block to a health food supermarket for a breakfast buffet, a favorite soap, and a valentine for my lady. Inside here are city police. I eat and run, making the hike to the supercenter. I carry the usual load to work, as well as what I Velcro to the bike frame. I get inside and grab the bike. Bags back on the frame, I'm now off to the closest branch of my bank. I have the deposit with me to cover my life insurance annual premium. The closest branch is at the other end of downtown. To get there, I ride along an avenue on the east side of downtown. The sidewalk is mercifully clear of pedestrians. I get to a bike lane, but it's one way the wrong way. Again, it's clear of all but a single oncoming cyclist. I turn to my bank and run inside. I haven't been in this branch in a few years. I'm in and out, and I make for the closest train station, again here downtown. I return to the same bike lane. This time, I'm backtracking, and going the right direction in this lane. When I reach the station, there's an audible message over the speakers. A train derailment has slowed the trains to the stop for a bus straight to work. A train for the other line will get me to a station with another 40-minute ride to work. That one arrives on-time and I jump on it, my transfer still valid. One of the stations along the way has a clock. When we get there, it appears to be broken. I'm out at the station and on the street. The usual street to the bike trail is closed off for repair. Am I in some kind of comedy? I choose another route on the street which takes me straight to work, and across the street to my investment broker. ...with 30 minutes to spare. I have money in the bank for some kind of unknown wastewater fee, for my insurance premium, and my broker has his check. And I had a voicemail that my appointment is scheduled to get free tax help. I have all the documents I need which are ready for the moment. And I haven't lost my social security card this year. And Sunday is the first library used book sale of the month.
When I get home from work, I elect to grab dinner from the takeout Chinese place across my street. Inside is the longest line I've seen there. Outside is a lone kid with a squeegee head in his hand, telling me in Spanish that he's hungry. At the end of the line inside is a middle-aged homeless guy in a khaki Carhartt coat. He has shit drawn all over his coat, and shit tattooed on his thin face. He has a tired voice and face muscles which appear as if they are on Valium. I ask him if he's in line, and he says no, he's just waiting for someone to give him some food. He asks if I "have an extra dollar?" His voice is so thin it's almost nonexistent and he acts wary of me. When someone hands him a Styrofoam container of something, his voice suddenly rises to an audible level. He's animated and thanking who gave him the container before he makes a quick exit. It isn't until I wake up the next morning. I'm lying in bed when I realize that he's a guy I've seen on this corner a couple of times before. I first saw him this past autumn. He came running across the street, saying something to me unintelligible. Friday. I get the call. I'm coming in to work an hour early. I hightail it back to the stop for a bus to work. Again, I make it just before it arrives. Saturday. I rode all the way to work, and all the way home. But first I stop down the street from my place, at a deathburger for an early dinner. Inside, I wait behind a derelict guy ordering fries and counting out his pennies. The cashier warns him not to smoke behind the building. He wanders off to another corner. The cashier tells me he's been smoking crack.
Sunday. I need to bring my bike along to breakfast and the gym with the sister. I'm off to the first library used book sale of the year. This one is always out in the far eastern province of the metro area. The plan is to leave my gym bag with her, and pick it up after the book sale. The sister drops me at a train station from which I may take a train to a bus, right to the library. Fifteen years ago, I used to go out that way for a company I used to work for. Later on, my doctor used to be out this way. I recently had a customer come into work who knows her. My train comes along, and the route takes us past the train which derailed. A single train car remains there, and trains still need to be routed around it. I step out at the station and get to the bus gate just as it pulls up. The driver runs to the bathroom. I run and grab a local newspaper. Then we are off. I disembark just down the road from the library and grab lunch in a deathburger. The local residents remind me of some decade out of time. Out here, away from either my neighborhood or the influence of downtown, they strike me as very unpretentious and simple. I was out this way for last year's sale, when the temperature was subzero and it was snowing. At noon, it's already a beautiful day, headed for a high in the low 60s F. The sun is out, the sky is blue, and the view of the Rockies at this distance is fantastic. Snow is blowing of the peaks. Inside the library, the sale is in a room at one end. There's one patron on her phone. A woman at the other end is coming through so loud that she can be heard in every corner of the sale. The middle-aged woman with the phone is giving her relationship advice. There's a grey-haired guy telling a grade school girl that these particular books are "cost effective." There's a high school kid who's here with his girlfriend. He engrossed in following the line of books along the table, and his mop of hair ends up inched from my face. I purchase a couple of books, and I get a bookmark with the list of this year's book sales before I hit the men's room. I change out of a pair of lined pants and into a thinner pair. I have an hour until the bus back to the train. I get in line at a snack bar, behind a woman with two kids. One is again grade school aged. I ask her about her book. It's a pop-up book about Halley's Comet. I ask her if she likes the comet. She opens it and the comet pops up. She says, "It's a pop-up book."
I head out to the bus stop. The day is full of families walking kids and dogs down the sidewalk. Waiting with me at the stop, off on an expanse of grass between the shelter and a long wooden fence, is someone with issues in the membrane. The bus pulls up and we hear a loud pop under a tire. Not a boom like a flat tire, but a can of something exploding. I smell paint. We step aboard and the driver takes a look outside. I tell her about the pop. The other guy does the same, but with a voice which is loud and slow. Some girls in the back of the bus immediately begin laughing. We are soon at the train station, where I step out and collect my bike. I make my way to an elevator. I press the button and the elevator comes down a story from the platform. Three homeless are inside, with sleeping bags and blankets. We all ride back up together. A train comes in jig time. I don't realize that it's the wrong one. It goes south, not north. But I realize that it has taken me right to the street closest to the sister's place. Though it's quite a ride crosstown. I still think it will get me where I'm going quicker than the train. In fact, I end up intersecting routes which I routinely take to work. And as the sun approaches the mountains, again the view is fantastic. What a day. Just before I get to the sister's, I stop at a supermarket. I grab a few things and check out. I'm unlocking my bike at a pair of metal horseshoes where a couple more bikes are locked up. A homeless guy comes along with his own bike. Hitched to the back is a child carrier, with some pieces of sheet metal duct work in the carrier. He locks it to the other horseshoe, which has hardly any room to lock another bike. I ended up locking mine next to a smaller bike. I'm shifting items in my bags as I see his bike fall over. I spent the day moving so much stuff between the pair of satchels on my back, I make room once again for groceries. ...and I end up leaving one of the bags in the cart next to the bike stand. It's a short ride to the sister's. When I get there, I realize that I left one bag in the cart. She and I return across the street and there it still is. And with that, she delivers me back home.
I feel as though this month has blown by with the velocity of a shotgun blast. This month, the sun is already going down later in the afternoon. Thursday is the 1st of next month. Monday morning. The small camper from the early 1980s is back along the block next to the open field. An electric bike is parked at a corner of the front of the camper. Shortly after I enter the bike trail, I swallow my first bug that I can remember. I cough it back up. I got the call this morning. Come in an hour early. Tuesday. I get a lot done before work. On the way home yesterday, I stopped at a supermarket to bring home 12 diet sodas. This morning, I take the train and then ride back to the same supermarket, to bring 12 diet sodas to work. And pick up shaving cream and vitamins for home. On my way home after work, I'm detoured off the trail and coming up a busy narrow road. At the crest of the steepest hill is a popular spot for the occasional homeless. This early evening, there's a big pickup truck with an RV hitched behind it. An older RV, it smells homeless. It's parked with a couple of young guys standing next to the truck. Neither give off any homeless vibes. Behind it is parked a police car with lights flashing. When I get home, I'm sitting by the phone when I get the call. I will be working all day tomorrow, the last day of the month. In the morning, my battery powered alarm clock wakes me up to find my plug-in clock is hours slow. My power went off overnight. I hightail it crosstown in the dark to the stop for a bus to work. Even though I make great time, again I just make the bus. On my way home, I'm back in my neighborhood when I turn down a residential street. I'm behind a grey0haired Caucasian couple jogging. It's after dark, and they are wearing a double sash of blinking lights over each shoulder, making an X. In my almost 17 years in this neighborhood, I've seen some behavior on these streets out of a TV show. This is more like the aliens have landed. January is blinking out of here. Fast? Mope.
