The folks who ride Amtrak

It is five thirty at the corner Starbucks on Kettner and Broadway.  I read my NY Time and look out the window. I hold my hot chocolate in my left hand. The 922 Airport bus arrives. The light says green but the bus doesn't budge
   To my right the Blue Line Trolley arrives. A rope of twenty or more Mexicans go to the waiting bus. Most of them work at the airport. They walk fast not to miss it. I recognize Sally. She is about four feet seven and she holds blond hair above her head.
   "Buenas Diaz, Sally. Como esta usted?"
    I follow them to the empty bus that refills its cup. I nudge a heavy one to make room for me. Two talk in a hurry with one word overlapping another There are smiles on their faces. Three are looking at their smart phones. I  place my New York Times inside my Ralph's shopping bag and make sure my books still ride the bag. One fell out a month ago and I needed to pay a fine at the Coronado library.
   My breathing is better after I had left the dingy and dirty Y hotel. At least I get a free shower and all the cockroaches I can eat. Most of us pile out at terminal ones second stop. I advance to a court yard of high end stores. I enjoy watching the small vans carry the Southwestern planes to the runway before take off.
   
   Next to the Emerald Cafe is another homeless. His shoes are neatly stacked under a chair. He is under a  Indian blanket. His only movements are for the steady itching. Another homeless one watching the planes. She walks towards me. I just know she wishes to interrupt my solitude. She does.
   "It is a shame he sleeps on the floor. Why do they..."
    Mam, if you don't mind, I am relaxed and wish to stay that...
    "Go Fuck yourself."
    Ditto.
    The middle aged lady sits behind me now. I move my belongings next to the one who uses the floor for his mattress. He slowly rises. He is about thirty. He places his tennis shoes on and away he leaves for the rest rooms. He is a recent homeless one since his face does not sun burned.
   My lungs feel better now and it is about seven o'clock. The 922 picks me up and I get off at my stop across from the "Y". I feel much better. I call my daughter on my prepaid card. I wish her a happy birthday.

  Back at the 500 Hotel, I ready myself to depart my Amtrak #567. I am at the Amtrak station at 8:10. An announcer comes on for boarding 
  "This is the 567 boarding for Los Angeles, ..."
  Conductor Rick hands me a ticket. My asthma pill has allowed me to breathe. Two Chinese gals smile at me. Both are tall and one has a rotund face. I make a few faces eating my tuna sandwich. I cut into my sandwich with my jaw since most of my choppers had left me. 
   Another Chinese lady came aboard with another white man - we are quickly becoming an endangered specie. The hands of the lady makes an arc. I do the same. She smiles at me and we continue with our hand games until her boyfriend returns. 
   Another taller Chinese younger lady asks me a question. Since few speak English again I use my hand language, and point to the sign above me. She wishes to know where to sit. 
   "Young go up, and old sit here." I am in the bottom disabled area with a large bathroom. My right arms jesters up so she climbs the stairs where the young thrive. 
  Yes I enjoy this train. The Coaster is noisy. Some are drunk. Others act drunk. Amtrak is quiet and wise. It has been around for a long time. My stop is coming up now. I must get off and take my car to the Encinitas Senior Center. "Good-by and keep on railing."