Though I love living in the city, some days it would be easier to see it from the passenger side of a car. On the way in to work I saw a woman, clearly intoxicated and screaming about "that Bitch" at the top of her lungs, nearly get mowed down by a car as she weaved off the sidewalk and into traffic. I was at my second bus stop at San Mateo and Central. My first, Central and Yale, yielded students, homeless or semi-homeless, recent parolees, and a smattering (okay there were three of us) of commuters. What is it with criminals who haven't been caught yet and criminals newly released that make them participate in bizarro bus ride confessions to their buddies sitting next to them, or loudly to some girl on the phone they're desperate to impress? This a.m. a current criminal and new parolee discussed their various and sundry incarcerations, criminal describing two warrants he knows he "has out on his ass." Then once the parolee jumps off at Nob Hill, the criminal phones his girl, asks her to hook him up with a job...his main question, "Does it require a drug test?" I sat at San Mateo and Central completely blanking on any number I could call so that someone could come out and pick the drunk woman up before she really did end up roadkill. After work, I ran over to the bus stop at the VA and as I was approaching I noticed a short stocky man and the driver in a heated altercation. A man in a wheelchair needed to get out of the bus and Shorty tried to hop on before that man had exited. The bus driver asked him to step off and let the man out. Shorty completely blew a fuse and had a full on meltdown. Central is tricky for a variety of reasons, bus patrons might be some of the most diverse of all the routes and the most populated. San Mateo, particularly on the end I travel is often full of veterans, and any number of mild to serious issues they might be rehabbing. I'm a veteran and I've seen the tragedies written in their bodies, the texture of their skin, their walk, the way they hold themselves upright as we bounce along, proud, but stiff, like they're made of metal. The smells make me think of hospitals, nursing homes, a city street at night, piss and vomit beneath neon lights. In all of that there is something hopeful, even beautiful about them. Whatever Shorty's issue, it wasn't about stepping back, the guy in the wheelchair, or the bus driver. He turned and walked back in the building.

I walked Chloe on campus this evening before dusk. We just caught the Sandias in their pink and purple glow. Campus walking isn't unlike taking the bus. I encounter patterns, young women and men (sometimes older) who want to stop and talk about Chloe, or who pause long enough to say, "Cute dog!" And people who walk past us like we're invisible. I hate to put a face on this but sorority sisters, you know it's you, though there is the occasional sideways look of disdain, but hey, I'm not dressing for you. I saw a bevy of dachshunds tonight and Chloe loved them all because she is a traitor and only loves small dogs. To be fair their owners were nice and they were very well behaved and cute. I also saw what could only be described as late 90's prom hair topping off what looked to be typical flip flops, jeans and double layered tank tops. And there are always those caught up in what ever it is they're doing, playing music, skateboarding. Tonight it was a painter set up by the duck pond. The other night it was a couple of musicians singing a Brian Adams song (I think it was Brian Adams), only I didn't know they were really playing it, I thought it was a radio. They were siting in the Center of the Universe art piece, and their sound was amazing. On a sad note, what's with the trash people? There was so much garbage in the grass around the duck pond. If I didn't have my hands full with Chloe I would have done a little trash duty tonight. It makes me sad to see it like that. Hell, the school kids over the summer do a better job picking up after themselves. Still, an enjoyable walk.

I miss Steph. I miss the car, the two of us driving on a Saturday, a slow morning before errands, a splurge trip down Rio Grande to catch the sunset (we're never up early enough to see it rise.) I like riding with my left hand tucked under the edge of her right thigh. I like listening to her sing along with the radio or whatever cd we have in. I like it when she sings unguarded. I miss walks in Old Town after dark, catching the tail end of whatever music is playing in the gazebo, letting Chloe lead us to all her favorite places.

The neighbors downstairs are having a good time. Boyfriend and girlfriend, occasional shrieks of laughter, muffled music, the smell of popcorn wafting through the shared heating ducts. I don't begrudge them their happiness. He took the trash out. Steph would be ecstatic, though she would wonder why I have been able to get him to take it out once in awhile, when she could not (what I will forever call Trashgate.) But I am not myself without her. I'm not as nice. I want to tell them to shut up, and to stop burning the popcorn.