the edge

Weird happenings. I planned to meet my fella at the park yesterday after work--an sunny day in the 80's, perfect for a suppertime picnic. A bunch of high school boys was at one of the 2 picnic tables when I arrived, and at 7pm they were already pretty drunk. I walked past, game face on, but they waylaid me, teasing, was I going to hang out with them. No thanks, I said, breezing by. I sat at the other table. A boy approached, holding 2 beers and a very sharp knife. Hey, wanna--I want you to shotgun with me, he said quietly. No thanks, I said, too quickly. He reddened. Kept staring at the knife. I felt a twinge of uncertainty. He was slow, possibly. Not as drunk as his friends, looking on from a distance. Sorry, I said, I'm meeting someone here. Thanks, though. He stumbled back to his jeering friends. A few minutes later, he was back, more insistent, two more boys right behind him, laughing. I want to shotgun these with you. I was mad now. You guys need to fuck off, I said, without preamble. I'm meeting my boyfriend here. We just want to hang out after work. The two hesitated. Fuck off--I mean it. They did. My fella arrived, also turned down a beer. Ultimately, we decided not to stick around. The boys were getting drunker and louder and we were cornered in a remote part of the park.
*
Today on the bus, a slender girl wearing a huge backpack sat down beside me. She didn't take off the pack and there was only one seat available so she had to sit sideways, knees drilling into my leg, her face inches from mine. I looked up from my book. She produced an apple. Proceeded to bite into it, deliberately. I looked up again. She stared at me, and bit off an enormous chunk of apple, chewed it. Reached across me to signal for the next stop. Whew, I thought. Thank goodness crazyville here is leaving soon. But she didn't get off at the next stop. She dug her mouth into the apple again. Waited to bite until I looked up. Jesus. Reached across me again to hit the signal. Again did not get off the bus. That's it, I said. Excuse me. I rose. She sprang up, skittered to the front of the bus. The fuck?
*
And I saw an old antagonist from work, a consultant making six figures with a swollen ego that must be inversely proportionate to his tiny member. He had the gall to touch my arm and say what a long time it had been. Yes, I said, unsmiling. It has.
*
On a happier note, I get to see the Good Husbands open next week for PUTS.

peace may not be our natural state

I'm realizing more and more that peace may not be the natural state. Yes: war, conflict, fighting; natural disasters, storms, earthquakes, decay, disease. We human animals delude ourselves with illusions of safety, even as the evidence mounts that we really are anything but safe.
Dark thoughts for a brilliantly sunny Sunday, no?
The suicide of a few weeks ago still percolates in my brain. And my neighbor's domestic violence. On Tuesday, a friend and I, en route to a meeting, came across the scene of an accident. A woman lay on paved tiles, curled up and sobbing. Another woman knelt beside her, bike helmet in hand, bike parked nearby. She had just struck the prone woman with her bike. Blood dripped from the crying woman's head. The cops had been called, also the struck woman's husband. We could do nothing but stand there, apologetic. By the time we left our meeting an hour later, paramedics had come and gone, with nothing left but a damp spot on the tiles.
On Friday, I met another friend for coffee at 9am. When we left the coffee shop about 9.25, a cop car sat outside the Wells Fargo bank next door, lights flashing. Bank robbery, haha, we said. Back at the office, an alert had gone out. Bank robbery at the Wells Fargo. I e-mailed my friend. Holy shit, he e-mailed back. I saw the guy when I was walking to meet you right before 9.
Today on the bus, as we waited for the Fremont Bridge to rise and fall, a young blond guy said loudly, Has anyone been to the Space Needle recently?
No, a few of us murmured.
I was just there. A guy set himself on fire, the young guy said, his voice flat. He didn't die, but--his face. I was right there.
Gasps.
Why'd he do it? I said.
He was saying political stuff, about the government.
Are you okay? another rider said.
He hesitated. I'm okay.
And yet, an hour later, looking at the news--nothing. It seemed believable, but apparently it wasn't true.
*
A good friend has "paci-fist" tattooed on his knuckles, four letters each hand in typewriter font. I love how he plays with the notion of peace through ink violently incorporated into his skin.

le metro

Seen. Felt.

From Metro the other night.
A bright smeary rainy blur.
I snapped the image with my phone.
A couple of days later, I sent it to a friend.
This photograph has a story, an arc.
It is more emotional than I, but I, I have more texture.
Re: depth, the jury is still out.

Overheard around town, 4oJ edition

On the 18 downtown last night, four bewildered Indian tourists--mom, dad, young adult guy and girl--endured a barrage of questioning from a Metro nutjob:
Indian people are beautiful. Don't you think? Don't you think Americans are ugly?
(nervous glances) Americans aren't ugly.
Where are you staying in Seattle, at a hotel?
We're staying with a friend.
Male or female?
Female.
Married?
(more nervous glances) Yes, married.
Then why'd you say you say 'friend?' You should have said 'friends.' Unless you're better friends with her than with him.
(no reply)
Where'd you go to college, here or in India? Or did you go to university?
What's the difference between a college and a university?
There is one, I guess I'm asking did you go to college, here or in India?
(patiently) What is the difference between a university and a college?
You know, like community college. I guess. (now, finally, consternation)

Overheard around town, Juneuary edition

On the 18 to Ballard last night, two drunk dudes checked each other's street cred.
"You like Scooby snacks?"
Nah, man, them's for kids.
"No, man, you ever been in the penitentiary? No? King County Jail?"
Proudly: Never been locked up.
"That's what they call breakfast sausage in the King County Jail. 'Scooby snacks.' If somebody asks 'do you like Scooby snacks' you better say hell yeah."
*
The 30 to Fremont this afternoon felt like a scene from Wings of Desire, with snippets of strangely endearing conversations percolating around the back of the coach.
I don't know what I want to do with my life.
"Dudes, there's this new movie coming out with Nicolas Cage and the Rock!"
I just want to be happy. I don't care what I'm doing, as long as I'm happy.
"So you don't get off at this stop." "Uh--no."
I want to learn French. But I think I'd speak it with a Japanese accent.
"You think he can excuse their pathetic defense the past two matches? Like I excused those two knuckleheads in class earlier? No, I didn't think so."

Overheard around town

The other morning an agitated kid boarded my bus and plopped down next to me. Poaching my space, leaning over my lap, he was coo-ing, crowing even, like a gangly anxious bird. In his hand I saw a note:

30 bus
1. Pull cord when you see the 7-11
2. Get off the bus

Somebody had clearly thought through the chain of events for this birdy boy. I wondered if previous notes had omitted the part about de-busing, if he'd ridden around town until the route ended and the exasperated driver ended his or her shift and tried to figure out what to do about the kid cawing in the back.