The Seven Eleven store on C Street begins my day. The cold north winds make it difficult to walk, but I make it to the American Plaza Station. I am in luck. The Blue Line Trolley is waiting for me. Before entering the train, I eat one of two bananas bought at the Seven Eleven, two for a dollar.
I waited in line for others to buy their chewing tobacco, cigarettes, power and energy drinks. Not for me though, the City of San Diego provides my energy bar. A bad canine tooth and allergies can't put this old man, a shade under 75, down today.
C Street at one time was called C Avenue. The big rollers in San Diego wished to rival New York and reversed the last name to Street. The Streets became Avenues. Of course there is another Street, bit this one works at Petco Park striking out hitters.
At eight forty, the bilingual Blue Trolley advances down C Street ever so slowly. It is the one that goes to the border for its pickups and deliveries. Thousands cross it every day. I wear a black beanie for my large ears since both of them requested it. Last night it sprinkled a bit. We had a blast of colder Alaskan air.
The street bag-packers had just gotten up. On fourth avenue several, a few homeless competed for one of five closeted potties. The Blue passed a C.V. S. and a Fed Ex store. Another wheel chair wished to be lifted. The conductor hit a button and a scale was lowered to load the sack of potatoes aboard.
The downtown area is the heart of San Diego. It's veins are C street and Park avenue. All of the trains make it to the Imperial Station on Thirteenth Avenue. From there, the Green Line waits to return to Old Town and Santee. The Orange goes to El Cajon and the Blue runs to the border. The Blue is the most traveled of any train.
My Mind kept thinking about Mr. Otis yesterday. The tall strapping man spoke in a loud voice, so loud everyone listened to his thunder. "Iz just come from fourth floor. So dam noisy, and asked the librarian to speak to the man cross me."
"He can do what he wants. It is a free country. Let him use his cell phone."
"Why so upset, I aks the man to keep it down. He ignored me. 'Hey niga, we same, keep it down!' he ignored me."
At that point a security guard came and told Mr. Otis to keep it down or leave. "Why me, don't we folks in library have to be quiet!"
"Well you will have to leave!"
"Don't you touch me...or else!"
I hoped the small white shirted security gal would refrain from speaking. I feared for her life, but agreed with Mr Otis. The over 150 computers are home to cell phones, noisy chatter, loud gum chewing, or even a few removing their shoes to scratch their feet. Anything goes with these up-to-date computers.
I got off at the Market Street and Park Boulevard
I wait for the light to change Green and say 'Hello' to the Brooklyn Bagel shop. I make a left on Tenth Avenue. There is a sushi restaurant across the street next to a pizza place. Up ahead is a Mexican cafe and on finally I arrive a block off of K Street.
After I order my ham burrito, I sit down with their Saturday U.T. or United Tribune. The two papers married in the middle thirties. The window takes up the wall. Outside, a few dogs are walking their masters and a few slimmers are running. A man removes a bottle from a trash can and puts it into his Ralph's Shopping cart.
After cars, buses and trains, San Diego has more shopping carts than inside Ralph's. Most are overloaded with a rope tied to a big bag of bottles and cans. A few more mouth-less homeless people slither buy. They walk like the end of a rope is holding them back.
My Lolita's burrito comes. Now besides my eyes, my stomach is satisfied. I read something about War World Three. Our President wishes to place more curbs on Russia. I laugh.Don't they get it. We did the same in 1939, the year I was born. Hell,, we did the same when I was born in 1939. If this is to be my last day in this mixed up world, let me spend it in the library. I love it on the ninth floor, and the good news is nobody is asking me for "loose change."
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