my other blog is a brain

The other night I had to take the bus home after a Blazer game. I got the MAX at the Rose Garden and got off between 3rd and 4th Street to catch my normal bus. It was rainy, so I sat on the bench in the shelter. Of course, no one else wanted any part in sitting next to me, or even under the shelter. I guess it’s because I look so suspicious with my hood on.The other night I had to take the bus home after a Blazer game. I got the MAX at the Rose Garden and got off between 3rd and 4th Street to catch my normal bus. It was rainy, so I sat on the bench in the shelter. Of course, no one else wanted any part in sitting next to me, or even under the shelter. I guess it’s because I look so suspicious with my hood on.

Finally, a large gentleman got under the shelter. His main objective was checking the bus schedule; staying dry was just a bonus. He smelled like bologna and Fritos, a combination I have smelled before.

As I raised my head to see whose scent that was, a flash of light whisked through my line of sight like a shooting star. But it wasn’t a piece of space debris burning up in the atmosphere, oh no, it was a cigarette butt, and it landed two feet in front of me. It was from the hootrats standing  by the building. I thanked them with a stare.

More and more people gathered around and under the bus shelter, including one guy who stood right in front of me, and over the extinguished cancer straw. He asked another man standing beside me if he could use his phone “to call Tri-Met and check on the time.” The “connected” man gave him a funny look and replied, “it’ll be here.” I almost chimed in with a studio audience “Ooooo!” or a little “fight, fight, fight!” chant, but I just stayed quiet.