The Transit Deli

  I am currently at the downtown library. The first computer didn't work blogs, so I left to the one across from me.  A hoard of about one hundred homeless entered at nine thirty. I had eaten a small breakfast at the Deli next to the transit station an hour earlier. The Green Line Trolley had deposited me there. 
  One hour earlier, the Green Line Trolley dropped me off at the Imperial Transit station. It is where the three trolleys kiss one another. The Blue one takes the laborers, domestics and servers back across the border. Four buses also stop here. 
   Many homeless congregate and set up their sleeping bags against the fences of Park Avenue. It is in the East Village area. The other half of San Diego live close to the Imperial Transit station. It was eight o'clock and I had an hour before the new San Diego Library would open.  I entered the eatery and ordered the number one: two eggs, hash browns, and four pieces of toast for $5. 95.  
  The chef, who doubled as a cashier, whipped up my eggs and threw the mixture on the skillet. I sat down in a booth in back. Fifteen bottles of medicine sat in the booth across from me. A door to my right said, "This is not a toilet." Of course there were no toilets inside the modest eatery. My fragile kidneys would have to wait.
    A thin elongated face sat in front of the bottles. He was heavily whiskered and a weather beaten man, older than his age. His hands slowly picked up one bottle and he placed a pill inside his hidden mouth. 
  .Whiskers began placing the medicine bottles inside a small black nap sack. He finished his drink and slowly, ever so slowly,  stood up - but not his pants. He bent down to lift his  exterior his  depleted pants over his neglected butt. He held his pants up with one hand and slowly filed out. His defeated eyes told me it wouldn't be long when a pick-up ambulance would take him to the promised land. 
  Another man slithered in looking straight ahead. He ordered coffee and a coke - anything to wake him.up. cHe slowly ambled towards me and took up a perch in a berth in back of me. He grumbled something unintelligible and glared outside. 
  Yet another slithered in showing more flesh than fiber. Another man showing more flesh than fiber. One foot carried a shoe but the other had none. His chin covered his neck and he appeared to be sleep walking. 
  "Need a coffee. How ya dooin?" 
  He took a coin purse out and carefully counted the one dollar and sixty five cents. 
   
  By eight O'clock I had finished my anemic meal.  I began to ready myself for the walk to the library, a football field away to to the north, with Petco Field to my right. My error was it opened at nine thirty and not at nine.   
   I traded a drink for a toilet key at the Mission Restaurant on J Street. and returned to the library-that by now had opened.It was grey and the first hints of rain hit me.  
   Over one hundred homeless entered and lined up single file on  the escalator. My nose followed them. Many lived outside somewhere in the East Village area. In five minutes the second floor lobby of computers had been taken. I went to the third floor, where you find me now. 
   
   The man across from me is cracking his knuckles. In between his coughs he sneezes. The dirty air outside has been the villain. Now the two gentlemen next to me are hacking. A naval plane must have dropped some carbon inside their sleeping bag at night. At least the guy to my left is using his right arm to shield his cough from me. At least the weather man had forecast some rain. There would be no need for ambulances tonight. 
 I then proceeded to the California room to play with their digital computers. I knew most of my books would use pictures or information from them. 
   A jolly old man named Rick helped me learn about the new gadget. At least no homeys coughed in my face. The view from the ninth floor shows one half of San Diego. The room with a rare book collection would be opening soon, and it is nice and quiet - unlike the third and second floors. Why next time I will wear a mask when I work them. 
   I took the ride to the Tower of Pisa - ah I mean the ninth floor penthouse or the California Room. Rare books, genealogy, data base and my favorite,  the microfilm machine are housed there.
  I wished to put pictures from the old United Newspapers on my flash drive. Chris tutored me in that art. 
I've got to go now. Just had a wonderful lunch at the Mission cafe. A few Padre employees talked about next season and how the color white would blend into many of their shots. 
  Next time I will discard the transit Deli for the Mission restaurant. Too many transits make it too depressing.