Mr. Whisky/ Long Beach Blue Line

Over two hours to ride four buses out of Huntington Beach, but I finally found the Long Beach Blue Metro. Since the bus drivers gave me the wrong directions, I entered a Seventh Street gas station and found out that anyone of the #91 would take me to the Blue Metro. 
   I wished to visit my second daughter in West Los Angles and looked for a short cut  using buses instead of the Metro-Link. The 91 bused me to the Long Beach Blue Line Station. A anxious lady jumped off the bus, and climbed the trains' platform. Upset she just missed the train.  I followed her, tapped my bus card on the ticket machine and slipped a dollar into a slot. I rebooted my Metro card.     I sat...or thought about sitting down on the train ramp, but a large dark deviled-eyed  Santa Claus dared me to sit. He tried to read from a sunburnt paper died yellow. Three shopping carts held his house. Gray darts sprinkled his face. His black floppy fat feet covered his sandals. 
   I couldn't give him any change since I had just moved into an apartment but felt sorry for him. Across from us a young man   stumbled along. His black legs meant he soon would be fodder for the meat trucks. I had seen too many gangrene-looking-bodies in San Diego. Soon the man would be picked up and emptied at Potter's Field. 
   The train came an I climbed aboard. An opera singer's voice boomed my way. . .I turned around and viewed a man drinking from a large paper bag.  "Anyone want a taste of whiskey." , he hollered and then took another slug from his paper bag.  A young blond tattoo came on board, totting a box of cheerios. Most of his teeth he left at the Seven Eleven. Another Whisky skipped on board and befriended the other bottler. He struck up a conversation with Mr. Whiskey.
   "Chew hear the explosion other day. Thaz no accident. Wees had no power for a day.  Can I share some whisky wit you."
    "Na, but Iz not worried over electric crash, but our lack of drinking water. Not long from now, bottled water will cost of five dollas."
    The train circled Lincoln Park and several cottages where tents and homeless had huddled. "A old hotel offered a bath with a room." Many one bed cottages graced the way of this lumbering train now .
  The next stop was the Watt's Towers stop. A man with a box of chips came on board. He walked down the aisles asking for a quarter for each bag of candy or potato chips. I declined since my pocket book had a hole in it. A few Asians came on board and Latinos. Mr. Whiskey kept fumbling words.
   "Trouble with dis country is these Mexicans. They steal our jobs and also looky-here inside my cap, see made in China. These Chinese are stealing our jobs also.   Dam it I'll never pay taxes until we are taken care of.." 
   All awhile, the Orientals across from me and the Latinos said nothing - whether they understood Mr. Whisky or not.  The train inched along till it passes the Watt's Towers, Compton, and Hoover. Most of these slab-and-plasters had seen better days. Many were one bed cottages with colorful drawings on the front edifice .At least now I was on the home stretch and could take the RP or Rapid Purple to my second daughter's house on Pico and Roxbury. 
  I must interrupt this blog to let you know it is pouring rain  in Huntington Beach this Saturday.  Looks like the April Showers came in July and not in May. Just love of the downpour and a Uke player in the Children area is making them aware of the UKE. 
   Back to the train. Now I could have gotten out at the Pico exit but five buses in one day were one too many for me. The train's last stop was Seventh Street. I bumped my card for seventy cents and got on the Purple Line for Western and Wilshire. 
   The Rapid Purple drove me to Pico and Elm Street. I walked the distance to my daughter's and had a wonderful time chewing the fat up the street at Coffee Bean. I bought her a chocolate drink but she told me that she could not accompany me back to Huntington Beach. I could have spent all day with her and her pet Oscar. By and by, Oscar received lots of attention from a three year old and guess what, the Yorkshire did not bite once. 
   This time I backtracked and took the Rapid Purple the other way to Western and the underground. I tapped my card again and entered the Metro-Link for Buena Park. I thought my problems were over, but had no idea what would follow. 
   Actually that was good news since the Buena Park Station was almost two bus hours to my abode in Huntington Beach. I got a long look at Knot's Berry Farm and eventually back to my home town at the beach. 
   There must be a better way to get to Los Angeles! Today the 21st of July I discovered the #1 Pacific Coast Bus drives you to Long Beach and stops on Seventh Street. Across the street is the Veteran's Administration and also the bus stop. Any of the 91..and so forth buses can take you to the Blue Line. 
   Read today, the 23rd in the L.A. Times a story written by Dan Weikel of the L.A. Times. Could it be that he read about Mr Whisky on the Blue Line and made a connection with the Rosa Parks station. For my followers the Times must have read my story on A 12. It does not take an idiot to understand how dangerous the Long Beach line is since no conductors monitor it.