down by the river

let's see, where was i? this is part 3 of part 2 of something i started recently. and part 2 has a link to part 1. part reality, mostly fiction.

The old Korean lady at the convenience store knows me. She's watched me go from bright-eyed and healthy to the depressed gaunt figure I am today. I ask for a pouch of Top tobacco.

"$1.43" she says.

I pull out the dollar in my pocket and say it's all I got. She accepts my dollar and tells me that I don't look so good.

"No, it's been a rough one. Interviewed for a job, that didn't go so well, car broke down, you know..."

"It's hard. Economy no good. Everybody's hurting. If you need anything, I want to help. I live in apartment above this store... if you want..." she trailed off. I think my face may have betrayed my state of mind.

"No, that's ok. I mean, thank you for the offer. I just... I mean, I'll figure it out. It's temporary."

She nodded.

"Well, take care."

I walk out of the store, sit on the curb and roll myself a smoke. I go to light it only to find my lighter is dead. Fuuuucck. I go back into the store and ask for a book of matches. The old Korean lady hands me two and gives me a smile of kindness and pity. I thank her, leave the store, light my cigarette and head to the river.

My mouth tastes like I imagine ass to taste.

Walking down Morrison in the sticky muggy afternoon, cars zooming past at a frantic pace, the rumble of buses and semis, the old brick buildings of a hundred years or more standing still as I walk past. My backpack is holding my t-shirt against my sweaty skin, creating exaggerated sweat stains. I move past bums and business people, service workers, strippers, hookers. We're all hookers in some way, but we all already knew that, didn't we? It's cliche anymore. Selling ourselves, or our skills, all for the almighty dollar so we can feel better about ourselves. Replacing "real" fulfillment (whatever the hell that means) with material fulfillment... and then calling ourselves whores, but not doing anything about it.

Dense. The buildings and trees seem to be competing for space more and more the closer to the river you get. Man's and nature's industries at odds til only one is left standing. If I had any money it'd be on nature.

I work my way across the Morrison bridge to the other side of the river. This side, the east side, my side, is the industrial side. I need to get to the park over on the west side. Or, well, I want to...

Arterial the way the highway and the Morrison bridge interconnect and push traffic to and fro on its never-ending way. Not much of a pedestrian bridge, the way Burnside is, but it'll do... and I'll have to remember to take Burnside home. I overshoot 1st and 2nd, like I always do, and walk up 3rd a few blocks before heading back east to the park.

A man without front teeth b-lines to me and as he opens his mouth I say, "can you spare some change?" He says, "um," and I walk on past. Even when you got nothing everyone wants a piece...

And I arrive...

A cool wind blows down the river making the park a good 10 degrees cooler than the rest of the city. Boats and jet-skiers dance a simple but beautiful dance, displacing water, creating waves. A couple, not more than a month or so into their relationship by the looks of it, lean over the railing, hand in hand, laughing, flirting, caressing, kissing. One of those things you appreciate when you have someone, but despise when you're all alone.

I lean against the railing, head hanging upside-down, and feel my face flush as the blood rushes to my head. Ahh, life...

to be continued...