Ten

 

Ten

 

     It’s another Monday after work and I’m sitting in the employee lounge where I work

 contemplating the day that passed and the journey home. A couple noisy talkers from another

 department are sitting right across from me and I’m trying to tune them out. What I’m about to

 say actually makes me sick. Quite literally my stomach is churning and I’m not sure I can keep

 down the candy and coffee I had as a snack.

     Today I had a flicker of forgiveness for my ex, and I actually emailed her a joke that I thought

 she would like. I’ll probably regret it, but as painful as this whole experience has been I have to

 admit breaking up took a lot of nerve, or whatever to want to call it on her behalf. Now if you

 excuse me, I have to vomit.

#

     I’m walking on the sunny side of Market Street. It’s ten o’ clock in the morning and it’s my

 first break of the day. If I’m lucky I can go to the mall and stop by the deli a few doors down

 from my work and get a bagel and an apple for lunch all within my allotted time.

     The tourists are lined up to ride the cable car at the base of Powell Street and the local freaks

 are working them for change. There is the Bad Silver Man. The Good Silver Man was cool. He

 was completely silver: Silver hair, skin, glasses, clothes, gloves. He stood like a statue and

 people gave him money. Unlike the Good Silver man who attracted fans into giving money on

 their own accord, the Bad Silver Man roams among the crowd asking for spare change.

 

     The Sock Puppet Lady sits at the base of one of the transplanted trees and has her sock puppet

 sing gospel songs. The Sock Puppet Lady is White. She is missing teeth and has black sunken

 eyes. She is probably a better singer than her sock puppet.

     The Repentance Twins stand with their hands in their pockets discussing the sad state of

 affairs. They wear old time sandwich board type signs on their front and back proclaiming

 fallen, fallen is Babylon because of some woman’s wicked ways. I assume the quote is a Bible

 passage, but it’s really too long to place in memory.

     I pass a few clothes stores and notice the guy that usually offers Tarot card readings is selling

 some kind of funky ceramic globs. He usually has a blanket laid on the sidewalk with a plastic

 milk crate showing his Tarot cards fanned out on top. The ceramic globs he has for sale today

 look like multicolored apple fritters or cow pies.

     The reason I ventured out now is that the foot traffic is light. When I come out at lunch

 walking is like some sort of Olympic event. Synchronized body weaving.

     I enter the mall, and downstairs there is a dirty homeless man listening to headphones. He is

 movin and grooving to the music. He is wearing a T Shirt noting Gay Pride. It shows figures

 that you typically see on top of wedding cakes. The figures are paired same sex. It’s funny, but

 the homeless guy doesn’t look gay.

     I leave the mall walking over to the shady side of Market Street, squeezing past the short

 White security guard on duty for the drug store and the wooden walkway constructed by the

 new department store. The security guard is laughing and joking with a couple of homeless

 people and one of them says to him that if he took off his uniform, he could hang with them.

     After I squeeze past the short White security guard and the walkway, I see a few good-

looking White women crossing the street. This is the best area as far as women goes near my

 work. Across from the cable cars at the downtown mall.

     The furniture store has two huge pots in the window. They are about the size of baby hippos. I

 can’t make out the price through the window, but I bet they are expensive. The kiln that glazed

 them must have been the size of a bus.

     I watch the pretty White women say hello to the Homeless Pet People. One Homeless Pet

 Person has two orange Tabbies rolled in a blanket and one has two dogs on leashes strapped to a

 shopping cart.

     I cross the street and see a flyer glued to a post that reads ‘I was a Sultans Love Slave.’

#

     I’m back on my block and I pass the Welfare Mothers standing in front of the trade school

 next to the Social Security office. I know they aren’t really Welfare Mothers; they just remind

 me of a song by that title. The woman students stand around chatting and smoking. The ones in

 the medical classes wear blue hospital scrubs. I see some cuties once in a while.

     I get a bagel and apple from the deli next door to the movie theatre where I saw the vampire

 movie. The apple selection is pretty poor. Most are badly bruised, But I manage to find one

 that’s okay.

     On my way back up to the floor where I work, I notice a lip print on the elevator door of a

 dirty red kiss. Boy, somebody must really love this place.

     There is one thing about being poor, or at least living with the poor people like I do, and that

 is it’s hard to get good food. When I say good food, I mean food that is good for you, healthy

 food like fresh fruits, vegetables, and breads. I have two stores on my block, appropriately

 enough, one on each of the corners at the opposite ends of the street. Theres the one where they

 try to shortchange you and rip you off, and there’s the one where they don’t try to shortchange

 you and rip you off. The store that tries to rip you off is better stocked than the one that doesn’t

 try to rip you off. They carry man magazines, household items, cold pills, and meth lighters,

 along with the standard overpriced dry goods. Sometimes they have apples, bananas, tomatoes,

 and onions, but they go pretty fast. I don’t like this corner store. It costs ten dollars to use the

 ATM they have by the register. Every once in a while, I will buy a pack of gum or an apple from

 this place. The guys that work there are phonies. They always call me buddy when I make one

 of my measly purchases. I buy small there, so I know they aren’t double charging me. My

 roommate is always getting taken by them. She’ll come home and look over her receipt and find

 that the phonies have charged her at least twice for something sometimes more. I’ve told her not

 to shop there, but she said she really doesn’t have a choice because the real grocery store is too

 far away and the corner store that doesn’t rip you off doesn’t have anything. It’s true. The corner

 store that doesn’t rip you off doesn’t have anything. Its run by a young brown husband and wife

 who keep their baby inside a playpen in the store. I like the wife; She is pretty and nice.

 Sometimes I’ll buy something there in an effort to put together a dinner. I’ve discovered rice and

 apples and today I bought a can of ravioli and a couple pf limes. I ate the limes like you’d eat an

 orange in order to get some Vitamin C. They also have good breakfast type buns there cheap,

 and I’ll buy them too. I don’t like the husband. He’s another phony.

     I was raised that you took your car to the supermarket once a week and loaded up with what

 you needed and stashed it away in your fridge and cupboards and you were set. I always had

 plenty to eat. But now that I’m not an American and don’t have a car it’s a lot harder to eat. I try

 to go to the supermarket once a week on my way home and buy good food to last all week. I

 now buy powdered milk because milk in a carton or jug is too heavy to carry home.