Fog sailed into San Diego like a Clipper ship holding too many sails. At the downtown 'Y' sleep became difficult. Broadway sat below my cell at the downtown "Y". Buses, cars, trucks, and even overhead planes kissed my room with carbon, nitrogen, lead, pollen and ozone.
A heavy inversion layer did not allow the poisons to leave. The day workers who lived along the coast in La Jolla or Del Mar with center air did not need to worry. The other half did since they lived downtown and needed to face the music.
My Broadway Cell faced South towards Tijuana. Planes from Navy Field flew overhead at night throwing their Black Death into my window. I got up at eleven to use my inhaler and relieve myself into an empty minutes maid container. The winds played the tug-of-war bringing in the dirty Santa Ana's and filthy grime from across the border.
Not to be outdone, Coronado sent more grime and pollen into my cell. Mexico has no smog control rules so their trucks and cars come into San Diego laughing all the way. The last of the rains came about one month ago, barely a drizzle. The fog held the pollutants in now without wind or rain. The good news is the San Diego's Balboa Park Centennial is next year.
I remembered a week ago when the custodian of our YMCA building whipped the dust from an outside sign. On it was written, "The coolest hotel in town." the sing outside advertising the Coolest Hotel in Town. Sir Thomas Cartwright, the manager, ignored the letter sent my Kaiser doctor. My doctor wrote that because of my chronic bronchial asthma, an air conditioner should be placed over my window.
"You can buy your own, Mr Garrett," he told me after receiving the letter. I needed to take action so spent much of my time at Lindbergh Field or a near-by hotel. My room temperature during the day hovered around ninety degrees.
This morning the twenty ninth of January, I told Bobby at the desk to "spray my room for Cock Roaches, spiders and bed bugs. I also thought there might be elevated levels of asbestos. Nobody ever inspects the 'Y' or other hotels. The counsel people are too busy taking care of their constituents in their own communities.
Today I would take Ambrak # 567 to Encinitas. I went inside the corner Starbucks. There was a long line of winded folks waiting for their energy drink. I read a book about World War 2 while waiting for the line to recede.
Outside the 820 bus to Escondido picked up a few passengers followed by the 992 airport bus. The dense fog made it hard to see the bus. Inside, Jake milked his coffee cup to get his one dollar and seventy five cents worth.
Like most homeless, he is as thin as a Jewish refugee, with high cheek bones since Jake has no teethe and a triangular thin face. He moves to the half and half and sugar at Starbucks. The fills his cup with half and half and several packages of sugar.
Jake then goes to the bathroom. His purchase has given him combination to the bathroom. Yet today, Bertha Washington again has hogged the toilets. She usually spends an hour grooming herself leaving wads of toilet paper. Bertha sits in a cheep wheel chair using her arms to move it. She sleeps at one of three bus stops. The art of sleeping upright is a piece of cake for her.
I then look at my watch. The #567 Amtrak leaves at eight twenty four. My nose is running like a freight train without breaks. I grab a large supply of napkins and leave. The conductor spots me and gives me an Encinitas ticket. A good looking blond sits ahead of me in the disabled section. I sit and my nose opens up. I forgot what clean air feels like.
I am thinking about moving to Santa Fe or even Portland.
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