mi casa, su casa

This is transferred over from my written journal...

Written: (yesterday) 11-20-02 7:15 p.m.

I left work a bit late today-- not due to my schedule, rather I was chit-chatting away with Brigid and Doreanne (my co-workers)�

So here I am, on the �W��not the usual train I end up on�(due to today�s timing�)

And to boot, I just barely made it on to the train- (as it already had arrived to the platform- a bit before I had.) So I had to scurry on to the closest cart- which at the moment meant, I would be sitting in the first cart�(you see, I normally get on the last�)

I enter.

Directly in front of my line of sight, (on the right most corner of the cart), I see a simple large pile of Black.

Blacks, made up of things�pieces of random articles, you and I discard� in differing shades- that now make up this pile of� well�

Black.

He is probably in his mid to late forties�(although in all likelihood- younger. As I�ve come to learn�the streets age you.)

Eeeh� how do I get through these words�without crying in front of these surrounding pathetic people�

That stare in their �unclean� disgust�..

� I hate them all�

Forgive me, but I do hate them.

He sits there, carefully laying across the two vacant seats. Holding himself.

He seems to want to just hide behind the mountain of acquired �essentials��carefully covered with black pieces of garbage bags�
A good way of keeping things from getting wet, during these odd Fall rainy days�I assume.

He has one relatively large cart�with a smaller one rigged to it� quite craftily with pieces of rope and small garbage ties.

His eyes are closed and he�s bundled up to his nose�with the same, very familiar ragged scarf�

Familiar.

I know this man.

I had gotten on the �N� train- which follows very much the same line as the �W� I�m on�

It was February- past- this same year� My second night in New York City� and a cold night, very much like today.

Yes, rainy, cold, and miserable-
another transition between seasons�aching in revolt, like personal growing pains.

He must travel the trains (I think)�For as long as he can�
for a bit of warmth� and maybe a bit of the rocking motion� that would help any baby sleep.

So he sleeps- as well as he can. Occasionally, opening his left eye�to check on his things.

His �things�. Yes, his �things�.

He doesn�t beg. He doesn�t plead. He doesn�t preach to God�or bless you for any gift worth a penny�

He rests.

And I sit, as I sat then�in his direct line of sight.

And if you�re me, you�ll catch the occasional exhausted and empty look in his eyes�

And if you�re me, you�ll stare long enough�

With a tearful� regretful� sight.

And you�ll see a smirk, pierce past the line of his scarf� when he returns your glance.

And you�ll apologize wholeheartedly with the bat of your eyes�

To then watch him drop his own, back into the warmth of his scarf� and close.

There are others around me� and they have noticed me� noticing him.

Their faces say it all.

They think I am crazy and stupid�

Fuck you. Fuck you all.

Especially you�yes, you� you little half Asian bitch�in a soft red coat�

Fuck you�

You�d be horrified to know, how I am fantasizing the perfect scenario�in which I bash your self-righteous face in�

Yeah� just one solid deck�

How dare you? You fucking wench. You have no idea� no clue.

In your judgment, you excuse him as a throwaway�useless�
the product of another typical �junkie� story�

But you don�t know..

I hate you.

HATE.

Some of us can cope�in varying degrees� to varying circumstances.

You commit errors� and you handle them as well as you know how--
at that precise moment.

Bitch. You, nor even I, just do not KNOW.

The simple fact that you were not born under his very skin� does NOT make you smarter�
it makes you LUCKY.

Oh god, to not have something so �technical� as a home� to not feel safe�

To see your mother suffer a nervous breakdown�
to have your father beg you in tears for forgiveness� because he couldn�t �fix� it� he couldn�t �fix� it all�
And then watch a little boy, eight years old�cry out of fear and confusion�because he only understands that: everything and everyone is going away�
and you�re going to be stuck, sleeping on the floor of some foreigners home�with no familiar toys�keeping your imagination afloat.

You just don�t know�

-Why.

You fucking whore.

************************************

My stop came�

I looked over, to my beloved lady in red� And when I caught her stare, I vehemently cleaned my snot�like a blatant two year old�across the bare of my hand and arm�

To then use the top of my shirt, to wipe off the spare�
against the obvious disdain and disgust running across her face�

I checked my wallet� uggghhh� it might as well have been February again�
I had the same exact amount of change�

I got up and just as the doors opened�I handed him the folded five dollar bill�

� the quivered smirk off his face� returned once more.

And he gave me a wink�

I smiled.

I then walked out of the train� stopped and turned. I had to see my dear lady in red, once more.

Through the side window, I caught her returning stare�

And with a proper salute�

Gave her the friendly �middle� reminder, as the train gave away and rolled on�

I hate you.

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hello, goodbye - 2006-05-24
Pinky burglar - 2006-03-09
So let's go... - 2006-02-24