He offered craft cocktails and obscure Belgian Lambic beers to a neighborhood that would be fine with Coors Light. ...offering housemade charcuterie before there was such a thing in Denver. I snuck octopus into the Bouillabaisse...I stuffed rabbit loin and red mullet with artichokes I learned to prepare in France. But the octopus often came back pushed to the side of the plate. The servers made Bugs Bunny jokes about the rabbit, and only the dishwasher would eat the veal tongue, doused in hot sauce. It's 2004. We meet at an ugly suburban restaurant. ...the next day... ...I walk in the restaurant... The clientele are ancient...worn, thick green carpet; faux brass rails...posters advertising Pernod and Pastis; and moldy big band music coming out of the speakers. There is a smell of old plumbing... ...2008... Don't you know, I want to say, that you never open an independent restaurant in the suburbs? It's September 2023... Thanks to...a population full of well-traveled and affluent first-tier city transplants, Denver... ...is, unlike New Orleans or New York, a non-site specific metropolis... - Denverse Magazine/Summer 2024
Tuesday is the 1st. I'm headed to pick up my mail at the post office. This week I will be coming this way anyway, to swing by my sister's place. She needs her plants watered while she's on vacation. I'm coming down the sidewalk on my boulevard. I move into the parking lot of a strip mall and follow it. I spot the homeless purple wagon, on another side of which is printed "bear daddy". The homeless guy emerges from around a parked vehicle. He's pushing a broom, surely for a few dollars from one of the businesses. He has a bear cap on his head. Sunday. I'm loving the 80-degree F. days. Not a cloud in the sky. I'm on the way to the gym. More cyclists out here today that I ever see during the week. A middle-aged couple pass me on their bikes. The guy is first. He has some kind of AI speedometer. I hear a female computer voice say, "Seven...miles...per hour." The bar is open at my bar and grill, where I grab lunch. After some chocolate therapy, I hit the gym. The hot tub is still under repair. I hit the therapy pool, which is the next best thing. I'm getting dressed in the locker room when a white-haired guy asks me if that's my Harley parked outside. It isn't. He tells me that the motorcycle has a unique style, such as I do. I get home and I get the call. Can I be at work 3 hours early? Why not. On the way to work the following morning, I'm on the way to work, approaching the connecting trail there. At the intersection is a metal table and benches under a small shelter. The table often has various stuff on top of it from different homeless. This morning, among some electronic stuff, is a walkie talkie. Mondays we close at 6 PM. I leave work just as the sun has dipped below the Rockies. I'm halfway up the trail along the river when I pass a guy in what appears to be dress pants, black shoes and white socks, and no shirt. Tuesday. I swing by the post office for my weekly mail collection. I ask about extending the 30-day limit on holding my mail. The clerk has me fill out another form. Then it's on to the sister's place where I water more flowers before I'm off to work. Another day when I can ride the rest of the way to work, and after ride home, in shorts. After work, I'm on the first trail home. I pass a homeless cyclist. Resting on his handlebars is one end of what appears to be nothing less than a piece of a wrought iron fence. It's after 5 PM. As he passes, he says, "Morning."
Wednesday after work. I stop into a deathburger not far along the way home. Behind the register is a short, middle-aged, female employee. She appears to have mental health issues. She functions well, but she has an expression as if she's an Amy Sedaris character. When she finishes taking care of customers, she immediately leaves the counter to begin cleaning. She strikes me as the kind of employee who any employer would want. She grabs a spray bottle and heads toward one of the restrooms. A couple of customers show up at the counter and the manager calls her name. She returns to assist them. He asks her not to disappear. I return to the counter to order something else, and she remembers my name. The next morning I have a voicemail on my land line. My mailbox lock has been replaced. I swing by the post office and pick up the new keys. I sign a form for the keys with a pencil. I mention to the clerk that this is the first document I've signed that I remember using anything but a pen. She says their office doesn't have a pen. After work, I approach my mailbox and insert the key. It won't turn. I suspect they've given me the wrong keys. Then I try turning it the direction opposite the old lock. Now it turns. Friday. I got the call yesterday. I'm working open to close today. On my corner in the dark, his purple wagon and himself bundled up at the entrance to the Vietnamese grocery, is the homeless guy. On one side of the wagon is actually spray-painted "guitar bear". When I get home from work on Saturday, I'm in the Vietnamese grocery in the early evening, picking up some Japanese ice cream. It's a half hour before they close. In comes Guitar Bear, in his bear hat. One leg has a single wrapping of silver duct tape. He's apologizing to a clerk for his sleeping in front of the entrance. Sunday. A white thin cloud has arrived to cover the sky, allowing the sun to come in and out. The temps have dropped just enough to bring out the pants and windbreaker. The forecast for the week appears to be a mix of warm and cool numbers. I ride to the bar and grill, where the outdoor bar is open late in the morning. Thank the bar and grill gods. The crowd waiting for their tables overflows outside. After lunch, I head for some chocolate therapy. The girl behind the register has a T-shirt on with Antarctica on the front. I tease her by asking her if she's been there. She replies that she has. At the gym, the hot tub repair folks are due this Tuesday. After my workout, I don't feel like riding home.
I ride to the train where a bus back to my neighborhood awaits. At one of the first stops along my boulevard, a guy asks the driver if he will take him to the top of the hill, which he claims he can't climb. He appears able to walk just fine. ...and he asks the driver this because he has no fare. The next passenger also asks if he can ride with no fare. He asks if this bus goes to a train station up the street. It does not, but it connects with one which does. He steps aboard. The third passenger we pick up has a couple of small dogs. This is the first one in three stops who has fare. Might as well let the dogs on. The entire bus departs at the next to last stop before the end of the line, just around the corner. The driver doesn't see me, and through the open door he asks those outside if someone forgot a bike on the rack. I stick my head around the corner and tell him I'm going to the final stop. I run into the supermarket to look for anything I can use for a Halloween costume. My lady appears to have a favorite event during the year, and it's a 'Halloween parade" which runs down a main boulevard out of downtown. She's been asking me what my costume will be. In the store, I spot a "creepy fabric". I wonder if I can wear it like a sheet somehow. Tomorrow, I will get home and remember that I have a grey kind of top hat which matches this grey loose weave fabric. I put on a black shirt and the hat, and I put the fabric around my shoulders. I snap a photo which I send to her. She approves it as scary enough. Costume in hand, I begin the short ride toward home. I swing by an old coworker's home, just down the street from my own. She's out on the porch with her three daughters. It's ladies' afternoon. The two younger ones are both in college and the third is here with her two youngest children. The smallest is perhaps 3 years old and is an adorable girl. I enjoy hanging out with them. Sometimes I come by here on Halloween, when they hand out candy to neighborhood kids.
Monday. I get the call. Can I be at work a couple of hours early? The past couple of nights, my sleep was a little short. Overnight, I've had a fine sleep. I'm out the door between 7 and 8 AM. This means there's traffic and pedestrians. I don't know which there's more of. I'm headed for the train station for my bus to work. A local weekly newspaper recently ran a story about the inconsistent bike lanes throughout the metro area. Hey, you wanna get around this town by bike, you gotta take it where you can get it. They come in handy regardless of where they run out. When I turn onto a busy avenue toward a highway, this is where I begin to dodge and weave. I exit the sidewalk to circumvent someone on an electric scooter, then return to the sidewalk to avoid oncoming traffic. I approach the highway intersection. It's split into two one-way thoroughfares separated by the Platte River. I'm trying to make the green light onto the bridge over the river. There's an oncoming cyclist. She stops for me behind an Uber bike and I make my way around both bicycles, as I'm also trying to make what's left of the green light across the other highway lane. I just make it before a green arrow allows traffic to turn onto the highway. Once oncoming traffic across the bridge is clear, the traffic turning doesn't wait for the green arrow. Across the highway, I'm through the underpass below the train, a popular spot for the homeless. I'm headed for the interstate, where I turn toward a street which shadows it, and the train line which also runs alongside. I must ride down the sidewalk along a condo complex on both sides of the street. This block resembles something out of a Monopoly game. I decide to cross to the opposite sidewalk to avoid a young woman walking her dog. There's a space in the median for a crosswalk in the middle of the street. I'm crossing the median when another cyclist comes out of nowhere, crossing the opposite way. Knit cap, no helmet. I'm on the opposite sidewalk when I elect again to exit onto the street to avoid another pair of dog walkers. I cross the street to a bridge over the interstate, and I'm at a street with traffic backed up. I swing over to a nearby intersection and catch the last of a green light onto the street to the train station. Soon I come upon a guy with a stroller reading his phone. I'm back onto the busy street before I reach a bike lane. I slip across the other lane before oncoming traffic reaches me, and I'm onto the opposite sidewalk on the side of the street with the train station. Just yards from the station, a handful of residents exit an apartment building at the station. They all have walkers. Once again, I exit the sidewalk. I'm in a bike lane headed the wrong way.
Monday after work. I'm back on my corner. Guitar Bear is there with his bear hat off. I suddenly recognize him as another homeless guy I've seen recently. They are one and the same. Tuesday. I'm due at work at my regular time. I'm coming down the long street which hooks up with the bike trail halfway to work. Along the sidewalk comes a middle-aged homeless guy. Among his disheveled gear is a white buttoned-down sweater. It has a high school sports letter on the front. He raises his hand to wave at me. After I leave work at the end of the day, I'm coming along the first trail home. The cool temps are fighting with the warm temps, and the ride home is borderline. I try it without a shirt. I'm swinging past some apartments where a couple of kids are playing at the edge of the parking lot. I hear one of them mention that I'm "riding in my underwear". When my shirt is on, there's never any mention of my bike shorts being underwear. When it's off, the shorts suddenly turn into underwear. Past the underwear kids, I turn a corner, after which I spot a Public Works pickup truck. I turn off the trail onto a path around a playground, which returns to the trail. The path goes along a big field where a children's soccer game is going on. On the other side of the path are parents watching the game. Where the path rejoins the trail, I pause as a couple of local police SUVs follow the pickup down the trail. I ride to the connecting trail home and stop at a supermarket on the way home. Another local police SUV is parked outside the building. No one is inside the SUV. Friday. My lady must work on Saturday, so there shall be no Halloween parade. Instead, she suggests we go to lunch on Sunday. This means I must hit the gym some other time than Sunday around lunchtime. This morning, I awake with time to go to the gym. Just as I'm headed for the shower, my phone rings. Can I come in a couple of hours early? No gym this morning. Perhaps I can hit it when I get up Sunday and be back for lunch. I leave the house shortly before 8 AM and ride just a block down the sidewalk to a pedestrian crosswalk with a button for a blinking light. I never use the light. I wait for a break in the traffic. When I see traffic in both directions have stopped, I realize that someone on the opposite end of the crosswalk has hit their button. I hear unintelligible yelling, perhaps of words in another language. A little homeless guy with shaggy greasy hair is walking his own bicycle through the crosswalk. I'm through and headed for the train station where my bus to work stops. It's rush hour proper. Down the busy avenue, I make it across the river and both lanes of a highway. Across a busy boulevard are the Monopoly condos. From around a corner comes a resident walking his dog. I'm off the sidewalk. he moves off the sidewalk. I move back on. Around a corner and down the street is a crosswalk backed up with traffic. I sneak through it as it begins moving. Dodging more traffic, I take a sidewalk down one residential street. Turning trees and falling leaves. I turn back toward the street which follows the train line, that follows the interstate. before I can make it onto that sidewalk, I dodge yet more traffic and turn into a parking lot filled with cars. Out from between a pair of vehicles comes a mom holding the hand of a child. I make my way a cross some small landscaping stones and finally onto a sidewalk. Which takes me to a bike lane. Which allows me to sneak into a turn lane into the station. No army of residents with walkers this morning.
Toward the end of the week, the high temps have subsided. I'm riding in my windbreaker and pants now. I get home from work Saturday. I'm on my boulevard, at the corner across from my own. From a gas station comes a cyclist on a bike festooned with colored lights. He's yelling at no one in particular. On the other corner, I see both Guitar Bear and the other homeless guy who I thought was him. I guess they are two different people. I have a message from my lady. She's picking me up at noon. This will end up being after 1:30 PM. Which is fine, because we will spend 2 1/2 hours doin' what we do, enjoying each other's company before she has to go to work. So my plan is to hit the gym before then. Around 7 AM, I'm out the door Sunday morning. I'm down the sidewalk along my boulevard. At the pedestrian crosswalk, someone is bundled up under a tree. When I come through this crosswalk, just off the bus a block away, I will see a woman here folding a blanket. I'm not sure whether a tent is here as well. Guitar Bear will also be down here then with his purple wagon. This morning, I grab breakfast at a deathburger down the boulevard. Inside in a chair is a homeless woman asleep, her white hair laying across the table. Over the back of the chair is a pink blanket with something written down the length of it. I collect my order and sit near a window. Just the other side of it is my bike, parked where I can keep an eye on it. Opposite the window is a flat screen TV. It's tuned to a channel sponsored by the restaurant chain, and appears to be nothing more than videos of people outside doing activities. Horseback riding, snowboarding, skateboarding, boogie boarding. On Tuesday, I'm perhaps halfway to work when I stop along the trail. I change out of my shoes, pants, and windbreaker. The shoes go in my bag and I put on sandals. It's another late morning when I'm riding to work without a shirt. With a bag over my shoulder, I can feel the sun on my upper back. I believe the high reached 80 degrees F. Along the way, I stop at a supermarket where I wanted to pick up some items yesterday, but had to go in early. I'm checking out at a U-scan next to a young guy. He's just staring at the screen, his wallet frozen in his hand. He appears to be struggling mentally. As he begins rambling, a clerk comes over to assist him. He alternates between saying "thank you" and making random insults, exclaiming to no one that his "roommate stole" his "medication." The clerk assists him with each step. By the time the young guy is making his way to the exit, he's yelling.
The following morning, I'm getting a late start and am headed to the train station for my bus to work. I'm across the highway and climbing a sidewalk which leads through an underpass ahead. On the side of the underpass opposite the street is a field of dirt. A handful of homeless are moving their collection of stuff, from the wall along the underpass to the space between the sidewalk and the street, along another lower wall. I make an s-curve between them toward the underpass, where one of them ahead of me is carrying a skateboard. One of the handful yells, "Andy!" to alert him I'm approaching from behind. Andy is tuned out. After work, I'm on my way home. On top of my usual back on the back rack is a smaller bag. It's an old bag with an old pair of cycling pants. It also has a windbreaker which is much newer, but it's a size too small. I bought it on sale. Along the trail home, I detour to a deathburger for dinner. When I park my bike, I notice that the bag has slipped out of the bungee cord. It's gone along with the items inside. I can't say that I'm upset. This deathburger is in a big shopping center. And today is payday. After I eat, I head over to a Target and find new cycling pants. A clerk chases down the last windbreaker. And I find a new pair of jeans. As well as a couple more items from the grocery side. This windbreaker is a size too large, which has to be better than a size too small. Thursday. I waited until today, until I made sure my paycheck had been deposited, to take a check to my investment broker. I'm half-way to work when I realize that I left the check home. I'm so pissed off that I detour to a branch of my bank and pick up a money order.
...a professional bicycle race... ...part of the American Criterium Cup series... ...the city [where I work] completes the event with a beer garden, live music, and a ride for families to participate in. "...neighbors...enjoy the breathtaking action of high-speed bike racing..."
"I drove down [the boulevard on which I live], bought some chiles... The next year, I went back to the exact same place: empty parking lot. ...a lot of roasters don't pick up their phones... Drive [my boulevard and the next one west] until you see a tent, a sign and, maybe, some flames." - Littleton Independent, week of 10/17/2024
On Saturday, the sister picks me up and takes me to work. We have breakfast first across the street. She's broke until payday so I pick up the tab. I awake too early and end up cleaning the bathtub finally, and the tile above it for the first time successfully in years. And I get dishes done, clean the kitchen sink, and some of the kitchen counter. Yesterday I was able to do a ride home in only bike shorts. I do so again today. There's the slightest of cool breezes with cloudless sunshine. Overnight I catch up on my sleep. I awake at 6 AM. Outside is 40 degrees F. Four hours later, I leave the house. It has already warmed up again to shorts weather. A high of 78 is forecast today. This week, a literal storm approaches. Wednesday, a rain and snow mix is forecast. Before I head out the door, I attempt my first reservation at the bar and grill near the gym. I end up getting there early and they find me a table. This is a place which hosts fairly large groups of friends and family. And it can get loud in here. In spite of the fact that there is not so much as a single flat screen TV. Today it appears a bit slow. There must be a football game on TV. I'm near a big group. One young guy is doing most of the talking. He's studying engineering and talking about life on campus. He's at that time of his youth when life is good. This is the weekend before Halloween. Along this block of shops which harkens back to a more traditional era, the stores are passing candy out to kids in costumes. There are also tables along the sidewalk, where kids can get candy from costumed characters. Parents are also dressed up. I'm sitting in The Chocolate Therapist, in front of a window, as a father approaches with his brood. His kids are all dressed in costumes. He appears as a typical dad from a Spanish-speaking nation. He's in a sweatshirt and a ball cap. He waits outside for his kids. He clearly is out here to take his kids around. Dressing up for Halloween is something he doesn't take part of. In a small park across the street from the bar and grill is a little Halloween festival for the kids. I make my way through the throngs to The Chocolate Therapist for a small treat before the gym. I'm through my workout and in and out of the hot tub. Then things really get crazy.
I ride to one supermarket for diet soda, which I then take to work. From there, I ride down the trail to Target, where I pick up some low-fat cheese, along with a small duffel bag I saw here last week. It's perfect to put my helmet in when I take it inside of stores. With my cheese and new bag, I head back up the bike trail toward an exit to ride a short way across town, toward a Whole Foods where I will get more soap. Along the way to my second grocery for a specialty item, I'm on a part of the same trail I take home from work. ...I literally am coming from work, on a Sunday. On one side is the river. On the other is a golf course. I come up behind a couple pushing a stroller. They are staring down at a pair of packages on the concrete. I pass them only to find another pair of small bags sitting on the trail. These pairs of bundles are positioned square in the middle of the trail. They immediately strike me as the belongings of someone homeless. Right after the second pair of bundles is a middle-aged woman who is walking back from a third pair of small bags in the middle of the trail. It's not far from here to Whole Foods, where I unzip my new bag only to find more paper stuffed inside than I've ever seen. I take it out and put my helmet inside, along with bungee cords, sunglasses, and my gloves. I take the paper inside and put it in their recycle. More soap in hand, I back track and ride down the street I usually take home off the trail. Only I take it along the way to my own neighborhood supermarket, for more diet soda to take home. I ride up the street back to my corner. I grab a burger to go before crossing my boulevard. I run into the Vietnamese grocery for more Japanese ice cream. The homeless guy who isn't Guitar Bear sits cross legged on the concrete in front of the entrance...as he's been doing this month. He meekly asks every single Vietnamese resident for a dollar, in English. The family who enter ahead of me don't appear to comprehend English. This grocery also employs local residents who are fluent in Spanish. I mention to one in Spanish that a "drunk is at the entrance." She laughs. She says he collects a lot of dollars.
On Monday after work, at 6 PM I do the ride home again with no shirt. This appears to be the last day this year to do so. The highs will dip after today. On Tuesday there's a cool breeze. I've picked up a prescription from the clinic down the street on the way to work. I'm now climbing a hill along a residential street, headed to the bank for more singles. Standing on the sidewalk is a Caucasian thirtysomething. Instead of a middle-aged Hispanic guy, on his phone waiting for a crew to pick him up and take him to work, there's this guy. Phone in his hand. helmet on his head. Skateboard under his arm. Doesn't look like he's going to work. Early Wednesday morning. I'm lying in bed wondering why, in spite of this long Indian summer we've had, my furnace has not yet come on. It certainly hasn't been cold in the house, but it's been slightly cool. A month ago now I've changed the filter. I get up and look at the door for the filter. It's just slightly ajar, just barely. The split second I adjust the door so it's now closed, the furnace immediately comes on. Yesterday I finished another roll of film. This morning I'm on my way to the camera shop before work. I ride crosstown to the shop and exchange the used one for a new one. Then I head for a nearby train station, where I should have boarded a train to take me to my bus to work. I get on the wrong one. I'm used to taking the wrong one and I don't remember why. I realize my mistake at the next station. I'm now out of time. With the disrupted train schedules due to rail construction, I don't know when the next train back the other way will show up. ...and if it will get me to the station I wanted in time to catch the bus. My only option is to ride to work from here. I'm not far from the pool where I swam after work this past summer. I first have some distance to close between this station and the pool. From work to that pool is a fifty-minute ride. When I get to work, I have a half hour to spare. I end up staying late enough at work today that I take the bus to the train station and ride home from there. There is a little rain on and off. This is the first day of the season that I wear my winter jacket. On my corner is the homeless guy I will call Not Guitar Bear. I ride past him sitting cross-legged in front of the entrance to the Vietnamese grocery. He asks me for a dollar. I stash the bike in my house and walk to the Vietnamese restaurant next to the grocery to grab dinner to go. The place is packed with Caucasian hipsters, along with people picking up orders. I wonder if it has anything to do with the facts either that tomorrow is Halloween, or that a US presidential election is in six days. Dinner in hand, I return to the grocery for a couple of vegetables. Not Guitar Bear is standing up. He assumes I'm turning the corner and walks alongside me asking for a dollar. In a neighborhood with a higher income level, this would be considered aggressive behavior. I turn around him and enter. When I come out...he asks me a third time for a dollar. It's a third time for myself. He rolls according his own schedule.
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