Sparkle in the Rain Clouds

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Damnit, I'm two hours early for my bus.

It's a raw night tonight. I head to Duane Reade first to pick up some cash and the rain is driving. DRIVING I tell you. Fuck it, I march on through the rain, get some cash from the cash machine and then head my ass to the subway with my luggage. I'm tired, I'm winded. I have no stamina whatsoever. My back pack, something that I have had weighted upon my shoulders for years as a homeless person, seems so unbearable.

I'm wheezing, covered with sweat and staggering into the Port Authority. I'm beaten, but not conquered. I strip out of my heavy coat and get on the line for my Will Call ticket. The woman behind the counter is NASTY. Telling people to get lost, forget about it, call a lawyer, go suck yourself, crap like that. When it's my turn I greet her, good evening, and she turns as sweet as punch. I swear, she's smiles, giggling, moving quickly for me, extra helpful. It was as if I was the boses' son. What the fuck? I can get behind that shit anyday.

I head downstairs to check my baggage with the baggage claim boys and there are there two clowns down there that have the impression that their job is to order around passengers. I ask them how do I check in luggage. The rodeo clown on the right says, "right here." I slide my bag up to him and he points to the slapped ass on the left. "Give him your ticket." Oh, gee thanks guy. For a moment I thought that I would have had to read your mind.

I give Chuckles my ticket on the left and he types something into a computer, takes out a label, prints this, strings that, and hands me a tag with a rubberized string around it. I loop it upon the bag's handle and look at them.They look back. Oh, I say, I have to put it under the bus. They nod. I lift my bag and move on. Then I head to the waiting area which smells like a fucking zoo. Shit and urine as strong as is someone was using your face as a toilet. I walked in and found a seat as far away from the smell that I could get, but I don't know what the purpose of that was. I couldn't tell WHERE the fuck the smell was coming from. It could have been coming from the air vents for all I knew.

I look around and the homeless are EVERY- WHERE in the waiting area. This area is familiar with me intimately. My first few months as a homeless person were spent here, sitting in these very same chairs, trying desperately to get some sleep next to people looking to wait out their bus to leave the city. It was interesting here, because every night, several times a night the Port Authority would either have people come and roust everyone out of the area to clean and mop the chairs and floor, or the cops would arrive to ask for tickets and flush out the homeless.

Now there was nothing but the smell of piss and shit and sleeping people in tattered clothing. Maybe I was too early and people weren't ready to wait for buses around the homeless. I mean, one guy, not far from me, was disintegrating. The man was covered over from head to toe with what looked like mud, which had dried and was falling from his clothing and skin in flakes. It could have been him funking up the joint, but I couldn't care. I jumped up and went to the line for the bus which, because you always have dumb motherfuckers waiting for shit, can't seem to make a single fucking line.

Here, these hairless apes are in a line for the first eight people, then in a group for the next ten people, and finally a two tailed line for the remaining thirty with about 15 people on each tail. Does this make sense to you? Well, it doesn't to me either, but people are always so dim witted that they look for ways to start fights among each other. It's as if no one realizes that one of the two lines is going to claim to be the original line and the other will angrily contradict it. Then it'll be time to throw knuckle sandwiches around.

But that had to be in the future. What we now need is some reason to rile these 'Children of the Damned' up. What better way to do this than to have the bus not show up on time. Wonderful, right? So I ease up and wait for the inevitable. The flame to the fuse. The bus is late, people are growing tired of standing and everyone is wondering how this double line is going to turn into one.

I am tired and wonder nothing. This backpack is hurting my back, damnit.

Hobobob