Poverty

It isn't just about money - but you wouldn't know that by looking on the surface. Poverty is what you make of it.

I ride the bus - not because I'm poor, but because I might as well be. WHY a thing is so doesn't change its meaning. Witness.

Clearly stranded - that's my best assessment. She's sexy in her own way (a bit on the chunky side, seriously drunk, but that's never out of the question). She's in a one-piece bathing suit (it was pretty hot that day in central California), but she's definitely missing a beach - this is hospital row, about 2 miles north of downtown Stockton. Stranded because she obviously can't decide where/what to do/go next.

I'm across the street, sitting on the bus stop bench (aside: they don't all have benches; that becomes a prized commodity - particularly for the homeless - become a "non-consumer" for a minute sometime, and try finding a place to sit or take a crap - an education, believe me).
She's (first noticed) at the gas station across the street. She's off on foot. Doubles back. Off on foot again. This is pacing. This is somebody pissed off or confused. Or both. To my combined hope and horror, she's crossing the street, and sure enough, there she is, sitting (right) next to me on the bus bench.

I can hear (sort of), but you have to help me understand. It's called life. The only thing I can decipher from her transmission is "f**k" - over and over again. I did what I always never do - stoic silence, just waiting to see if anything useful happens. It only lasts about 90 seconds. I believe her parting comment (back to the gas station) is something like "You're a prick." OK, I can own that.

It also seems I can (if I wanted) own the clearly inadequate knit sweater she left on the bench. But I don't want to own it (she's vanished, permanently, it seems - I guess she'll miss the sweater later, then again maybe not). The bus driver (finally) does his part - is that yours? Nope.

I said someplace, (and I paraphrase myself) "Lose everything. Then you'll know the value of money." I meet a lot of people at bus stops who've lost "everything." I can't escape the feeling that maybe I'm one of them. I try to take solace sometimes in the concept that I'll probably have lots of company coming down from the "middle class" pretty soon. It doesn't work though. I can feel pain no matter who has it. Life again.

Poverty is what you make of it.

LifeWrecked out.