Sightings!
Aug. 6th, 2007 06:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsIt has been a day for very, very weird sightings. I should whip out my camera, but I keep forgetting it. This morning, while I was on the way to work, I spotted a beaten pickup in the lot across the street from the bus stop. There's a run-down bar and grill over there; I think Omaha and I have eaten in it exactly once, and that was when we first moved in. The truck had a bumper sticker that read, "Thank you George Bush! Kick their ass and take their gas." Yeah, that's the spirit.
On the way home, I have to transfer from a bus that takes me into downtown to one that takes me home. My usual exchange point is in a nice part of belltown: the Casbah cafe, Singles Going Steady (a punk rock specialty record store, with a charming sign in the front that reads "All Hippies Must Use Rear Entrance"), and some of the more popular district restaurants across the streets, like Mama's Mexican (Kouryou-chan loves the place because they have live mariachis) and Coney Island (restaurant and bar set up like an old-school video arcade).
One block away is a place called The Recovery Center, and surrounding it are the waves of individuals who need recovery of some kind. This afternoon, on the way home, I watched a woman crouch down behind one of those ugly orange Element cars and light up her crack pipe right there on the street, and on the robust benches by the bus stop I listened to one man verbally accost a woman of setting up his sister and getting her sent to jail. He didn't seem to deny that his sister needed jail, he just didn't want his family's honor besmirched by having it actually happen. I thought violence might break out at any moment, but he eventually walked away, muttering.
And finally, on the bus itself, there's the all-American woman, this huge rotund woman, and her child, who's now about three, as blobby as mom, and who never, ever fails to have either a bag of cookies or a Starbucks parfait or something similar. The first time I saw her, the kid was still in a stroller and she was shoving ice cream into him as fast as he could tolerate it. At what point does "food is love" become generational abuse?
On the way home, I have to transfer from a bus that takes me into downtown to one that takes me home. My usual exchange point is in a nice part of belltown: the Casbah cafe, Singles Going Steady (a punk rock specialty record store, with a charming sign in the front that reads "All Hippies Must Use Rear Entrance"), and some of the more popular district restaurants across the streets, like Mama's Mexican (Kouryou-chan loves the place because they have live mariachis) and Coney Island (restaurant and bar set up like an old-school video arcade).
One block away is a place called The Recovery Center, and surrounding it are the waves of individuals who need recovery of some kind. This afternoon, on the way home, I watched a woman crouch down behind one of those ugly orange Element cars and light up her crack pipe right there on the street, and on the robust benches by the bus stop I listened to one man verbally accost a woman of setting up his sister and getting her sent to jail. He didn't seem to deny that his sister needed jail, he just didn't want his family's honor besmirched by having it actually happen. I thought violence might break out at any moment, but he eventually walked away, muttering.
And finally, on the bus itself, there's the all-American woman, this huge rotund woman, and her child, who's now about three, as blobby as mom, and who never, ever fails to have either a bag of cookies or a Starbucks parfait or something similar. The first time I saw her, the kid was still in a stroller and she was shoving ice cream into him as fast as he could tolerate it. At what point does "food is love" become generational abuse?
