A Ubiquitous Day in Surf City

   My plugs need oiling.  The number one bus stops in front of the Hilton at exactly eight fifteen. On board, it begin to relax and breathe with the knowledge that hot dry air will clean my spark plugs. The bus ambles on to Sunset, Seal and then Long Beach. It is great to remove myself from the beach and the Sea Cliff Health Center. I have been bogged down with Mel for almost a year, and I know that I need change or I will be a patient in bed one. At least I have time to dream and relax on the bus.
    Writers from the New York Times have begun to use terms such as "ubiquitous" and "nascent" far too much. You can feel it on the Streets of Surf City. The younger generation have given up learning for skate boards, tattoos, bikes and drifting further from the main stream. Skin heads appear everywhere as do the homeless.
     The bus turns a corner across from the V. A. building and just south of Long Beach State College. Nature calls so I run into the V.A. to take care the overflow and return to the bus stop, just in time for the #901 bus to downtown. The further I stray from Surf City the more relaxed I am. At least there are no panhandlers on this bus to shake me down. I still feel pissed that nobody seems to care about the man on the street.
      The New York Times now uses the term "ubiquitous" when referring to events happening today. ICE has flooded our cities rounding up those with the wrong skin color. Nobody wishes to build the wall and our new head has fired just about everybody he has hired. Two of our ships have collided in the seas off of Japan. Yes we have a new ubiquitous beginning.
     I tap my blue card on a machine and wait for the Blue Line Metro. Most of Long Beach is asleep at nine o'clock, so it is safe to ride the rails. My asthmatic lungs begin to sing as we pass Pacific, Willow, Wardlow,  then Compton, Vernon ans so forth. The train lumbers on to the Washington Street tracks before handing off to the Flower ones on the way to Seventh Avenue.
     The last stop is Seventh Street. I am still miffed why the panhandler attacked me. Guess he thought I was stealing his car.  I had called the police and a couple hours later a policeman came to my apartment.
      "You did the right thing by not fighting back.  Sorry we came late.  Some lady threw her baby out of a three story window."
       " Who is delegated to watch our streets. It is sometimes a free-for-all on these streets. And who watches over the benches. I never see any police cars" I answer. 
        "No, the Orange County Sheriff is supposed to taker care of these benches. Have a good day Mr. Garrett."
         "Thank you officer Tojo."
       Two escalators take me to street level.  My lungs are doing adagios now. I feels great to drink softer dry air..I  can't get over how many tall buildings live in Angle Town. I make it to the downtown Library and notice two policeman on the fourth floor. I order the microfilms I need and go downstairs for a bit to eat. At least Panda Express or the Microfilms machines are not ubiquitous. (Not edited)