A Day at U.S.C.

My day began, as usual, at the Waterfront Hilton in Surf City, but a murder at downtown Los Angeles derailed my plans. I milked my Starbucks coffee while the number one bus drove me to the V.A. and the 91 bus. I tapped my card and inserted a dollar into the machine that worked. The train came my way and I boarded at about nine thirty. A somber note hit me over the train's speaker system.
   "You will need to board another train. It will arrive in five minutes...There is a shuttle at Firestone that will take you to another train on you way to L.A."
    Now on Pacific in Long Beach, I decided that no event would derail my serenity today. With the Prime Minister of England Disraeli in one hand and my brew in the other, I intoxicated myself with the view. I feast on good books and would rather read than make love with the prettiest girl in town. An I felt fine since I was also milking my coffee and eating to hard boiled with a banana. No nothing could bother my Day at U.S.C.
     The train ambled past the  Watt's Towers, Compton, and when it reached the Washington, the train stopped, and over the speaker it told us to board a bus. I had an enjoyable conversation with Sam on the train and told him to follow me.
      Three buses lined up outside. Sam and I chose a bus and luckily he found a seat for his larger-than-life frame but I needed to beg for one in the back. A lady who looked like a man sat in the back hogging two spaces. I bowed and begged.
      "Man, could you bare to give a seat to an old, old tired old man?
       She didn't move or even look up from her magazine. Again I begged and wiped my brow. She looked up and in a brisk way moved two inches to the right. The guy by the window slept and in no way did I wish to bother this behemoth.  I snuggled my thin frame body between these goal posts, one thin, and the other huge. Sam, on a side seat,  had a kind face with a large body and continued our conversation.
      "Too bad they removed those Red Cars for this. Why they never would have needed to tear up Wilshire if we had kept those trains....Call this progress?"
       The shuttle bus now full, inched along until it made a right turn. I felt a trickle of water on my pants and surmised that the gal to my left had an accident. I said nothing, no doubt, for fear of being shot in the head...and I too needed a head but today had good control.  After over one hour, we made it back to the rails and another train waited for us. We had moved about half a mile and no doubt could have walked on foot faster. I said my good-by to Sam and made a connection on the Expo line .
      The U.S.C. station was my stop. I exited and at now twelve o'clock, felt tired but more hungry than tired. Before I went to the Student Union for grub, I sauntered to the library to lock up my nap sack and speak to Claude, my sponsor. I got a locker for my stuff and now it was time to stuff my stomach with some U.S.C. food.
      It still was a bit hot, but I needed something to relax me.  Inside I felt the cold A.C. and looked to my left. Deposited in a round food table were all types of salads and sandwiches. But up I saw a line waiting for a real hot lunch. At the counter one could order a roast or fried chicken. I felt like the roast that came with two sides.
       "Take that roasted chicken and for my sides I will have the mashed and sting beans."
       At nine and change the meal was in my price range. But the one hour on a bus made me thirsty. And who am I to deny myself for water. The bill  came to twelve and change and leisurely I walked outside and found a shady spot on  a couch. 
       Most everyone had paired off. Many ate or typed on their apple computer. They all seemed happy and most alert. I wished to get my twelve dollars worth so I just took my time and ate one string bean at a time along with spoonful's of mashed potatoes. I even used a plastic knife and fork to remove every bit of meat from the succulent chicken.
       At about one o'clock I decided to buy a few U.S.C. shirts. The book and student store stood adjacent to the Student Store. I found three U.S.C sweat shirts, with one to go to my grand daughter Allison. I felt alive and now needed to get to where the Daily Trojan is published. The students didn't know but a young worker showed me the way.
       A library lifted me to the fourth floor, but unfortunately, all the rooms were locked. An advertising man told me to return at four o'clock since they begin at four and work into the night. It figured since they probably had classes during the day. I wished to promote my Schindler story and give them pictures for a future publication.
       I returned to the library and discovered how to get into the digitized past newspapers. Now going on two I took the Expo west to see my daughter.