With the dishes done around seven, I
had to skedaddle to get onto the bus. I had to turn around because I
forgot to sign out. It might have been some attempted self-sabotage,
but it ended up being irrelevant anyway because I didn't sign back
in. Procedurally, there's an accounting for overnight sign-outs but
practice, again, doesn't bear that out.
The bus ride cost me one of my last
dollars, but I thought it would be worth it. If I walked, I'd be
heading into my first day of work sweaty, and that seemed like a bad
idea. It was night and it stays cool up here, but I could still work
up a sweat making the walk from the shelter to downtown.
The bus that serves the shelter also
serves the local Native American reservation at certain times of day.
I was in a seat facing forward when the guy on the bench in front of
me mentioned that we'd met each other at the unemployment office that
doesn't feel like an unemployment office the other day. We joked
about the woman that certainly didn't know how to use that thing that
he needed to use, then lapsed into an awkward silence.
Before the ride was over, his
girlfriend crossed from the bench across the bus and began
desperately making out with him. I think Requiem for a Dream
had a sadder woman trying to make a man happy, but this was a close
second.
She had a really wired energy about
her. I mean, being a woman in your late twenties and desperately
macking on your reluctant boyfriend on a public bus might be
normal for some people.
I'm sure there are plenty of non-drug-related
reasons to do that.
Hanging out at Purgatory Shelter,
certain things come up. Drugs come up a lot. Unemployment.
Relationships with women. I don't know if I just have these things on
the brain now or if I'm just more aware that they happen.
They got off at the reservation casino
and my buoyant high managed to stick around.
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