Thursday

So there's this guy with the biggest damned ten dollar watch I've ever seen and I'm ready to say to him, "Hey, dude, why not get a small watch that doesn't scream out, 'cheap, cheap, cheap' like some ghetto bird?" But I say nothing because preserving one's life is more important than making one's point. I watch my fellow transit riders, my commuter buddies, and observe the guy taking up two seats, sleeping like a baby, albeit an odiferous baby, with shoes that could make a potent tea, and a hat that had seen better Yankee days. But across from me is this older man, perhaps even older than me, who sits and sleeps, perchance to dream, perchance to pretend he's asleep to avoid the money beggars. The pretenders who say they would accept food, but really want money, because they can get food at their SRO--single room occupancy facilities that provides not only shelter, but three squares, heat, hot water, and another reason to be angry about "the system." Oh well, it's just our tax dollars hard at work.