No longer can I get a hot shower. The new Egyptian owners must have turned down the water heater. What the hell, so I took a long warm shower and shaved. The hot coffee is made at seven o'clock, and to save a bit or two, I pour a cup and sit on the steps of the downtown 'Y'.
Almost everyone holds a Starbucks coffee. Nobody cracks a smile. The corner coffee clutch is busy as usual. He sells over three hundred coffees a day. And no wonder. Thousands of sleep walkers enter the downtown area of San Diego. Across from me the National Bank is draped with cloth. It is being remodeled. Next door, the Bank of America isn't open, but the bagel shop is busy and I can smell the onion ones a block away.
It feels great to get some fresh harbor air, since my cell offers dank humid air. I return to my second floor room and feel like eating the rest of my left-overs from the Tip Top Restaurant. I notice that the jabber-mouth is not inside the large kitchen.
I take the rest of my New York steak with potatoes to the kitchen. I am thankful that Nightgown is not there. She monopolizes the room with her endless cackling and chatter. She is a Polish reject and her name begins with a P which is followed with lots of 'W's and 'K's. I microwave it and sit...well try to sit down at the round table, but a ugly mop gets into my way. It is Nightgown.
"Dis is ma seat. Vat is matter vis yu." I can't believe it. I didn't tell nightgown 'to get lost.' I held my trigger. You can have it but don't talk."
I finished my Big John leftovers and left to my room. I needed to make my bed and pray for our President's head. I gave Edith a kiss and said good-by to my room. There is nothing like good air and of course, airing out my dirty linen to our corrupt City Council.
Outside, I felt exuberant. A steady Harbor breeze caressed my face. I turned the corner of Kettner and noticed the Sleeping Bag asleep next to the paper rack. I worried that he had finally succumbed to his fate several years too early.
The pedestrians no longer look. Sleeping bag city wakes up in the early morning hours. I take out my New York Times and sit beside the #567 Amtrak. In back of me the Green Line Trolley stopped and let its passengers link up with the Orange Line. Some crossed the tracks on their way to work. There wasn't a smile on any face.
While I ate the first page of the Times, Conductor Chris walked across from me. He unlocks the doors at about eight ten. "Hi Chris! Got four more months to go. How long you worked on railroad? "Forty and one half years George. How your book coming along. My mind is as clear as ever. I gorge myself on our miserable world. Why the paper even mentioned that a soccer player bit another.
I slide into a compartment and read the Times. I am the only passenger inside. I get off at Encinitas and thank God for another day. Tutor Tony helps me to place pictures inside my football book. Horst has proofread part of what I had written.
At table five, Barbara is not there. Horst complains of not sleeping a wink and he has pain in both legs. I asked him who he thinks about before he goes to bed. "My wife and my daughter. Elizabeth's ashes are in the living room."
Well got to go now. There is a dance up the street. It is only a CD dance, but at least the gals still make music.
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