Armed with the trusty T-cane but wary after being followed by two hooded thugs who gave off only reluctantly on Wednesday night, I had a bad sense. The moon was even brighter and the previous day had been graduation day for many of Harm City’s sainted youth, so they could be expected to be out hunting Whitey on a recreational basis.
Eunice was at the bus stop, back in the shelter, blaring her You Tube evangelist from New Orleans, her normal behavior when she is spooked by prowling and skulking hoodrats.
I look around before crossing: Marge, the local hooker is dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her, hoping her regular customers will be logging frequent flier miles up at the Super Eight motel.
Three different young men, all seemingly on their own, sit at the base of nearby light poles.
Men are seen walking in packs in the distance, seemingly headed nowhere, just wandering.
A pigmy hooker with blonde hair and her midget pimp approach, circle the stop, pick up used cigarette stubs to smoke and wander over to Marge.
The police chopper circles overhead, an ambulance blaring on by.
Something about the night makes me want to stay and take the bus and I do.
The night is dark and brightly lit as the bus pulls up and takes us out Eastern Boulevard.
When the bus nears Middle River Bridge I see a man walking through the Park as I would have been, in his work boots with light pack.
He is walking into the path of a gang of black youth carrying stones and dancing.
He is spared when they spy the bus, stop and begin heaving their stones at the bus.
No sooner have the rocks bounced off the bus then I am off-loading to another scene of pedestrian carnage. For the third time in the past year police, fire and ambulance personnel crowd the intersection where someone crossing the westbound lane has been mowed down. No word on if there is a fatality.
It’s time for work.
A Bright Shining Lie at Dusk
A Partial Exhumation of the American Dream
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