I left the high-rise today. I had to; something about walking around the flat for that long looking at all the same things was giving me a headache.
Now I'm on the bus.
It's kind of a long story. I took the elevatube down the first floor and tipped the doorbot with a knock on his tin noggin. It's an old joke between us; I guess because he doesn't forget anyone who walks through his door and I get along easier with bots than with people. People are too much work. Anyway, I walked through the door and all at once two things hit me. The first thing was the smell; back when I was a kid and smog wasn't so bad a bunch of congressmen passed a bunch of laws to limit air pollution and for a while even told everyone that it was getting better, but it was a lie. Tell it to the street people, you know?
Which brings me to the second thing. The street people. A group of them is usually hunkered outside every big living building, especially those they know rich people live in. Which meant there were more outside my building than most others. Usually I'm really good with the street people, and today I figured they'd leave me alone once they knew I wasn't carrying any pocket money. But this one guy jogged along behind me while I walked, and he was being real forward, yelling at me to say how bad a person I was that I couldn't appreciate how those in the low places had to live. Which pissed me off real bad, because one of my best friends from college ended up living on the streets, and I helped him whenever I could. This guy kept going on, said he knew I had money, and he was going to stay with me until I proved to him I was really not carrying. Like I don't know what he'd have done with the money had I given it to him. You want to help someone on the streets, you don't give him money. Finally, as I turned to face the guy with a fist I'd balled up, he dropped off, throwing his hands in the air. All right, man, he said. And I never looked back.
Through the rest of the walk I kept my eyes on the ground and pasted some vile expression on my face. I passed a few people having animated conversations with themselves, and that cheered me up a little bit. When I was a kid, talking to yourself meant you were a crazy. Now, though, you never know. Is it her grandmother? Boyfriend? Or is she just bonafide street person crazy?
I've always wondered about getting an implant like that, but I'm not too good with human to human communication, like I've said.
Then my legs got tired and I hopped on the bus. I guess it wasn't too long of a story.
Now I'm on the bus.
It's kind of a long story. I took the elevatube down the first floor and tipped the doorbot with a knock on his tin noggin. It's an old joke between us; I guess because he doesn't forget anyone who walks through his door and I get along easier with bots than with people. People are too much work. Anyway, I walked through the door and all at once two things hit me. The first thing was the smell; back when I was a kid and smog wasn't so bad a bunch of congressmen passed a bunch of laws to limit air pollution and for a while even told everyone that it was getting better, but it was a lie. Tell it to the street people, you know?
Which brings me to the second thing. The street people. A group of them is usually hunkered outside every big living building, especially those they know rich people live in. Which meant there were more outside my building than most others. Usually I'm really good with the street people, and today I figured they'd leave me alone once they knew I wasn't carrying any pocket money. But this one guy jogged along behind me while I walked, and he was being real forward, yelling at me to say how bad a person I was that I couldn't appreciate how those in the low places had to live. Which pissed me off real bad, because one of my best friends from college ended up living on the streets, and I helped him whenever I could. This guy kept going on, said he knew I had money, and he was going to stay with me until I proved to him I was really not carrying. Like I don't know what he'd have done with the money had I given it to him. You want to help someone on the streets, you don't give him money. Finally, as I turned to face the guy with a fist I'd balled up, he dropped off, throwing his hands in the air. All right, man, he said. And I never looked back.
Through the rest of the walk I kept my eyes on the ground and pasted some vile expression on my face. I passed a few people having animated conversations with themselves, and that cheered me up a little bit. When I was a kid, talking to yourself meant you were a crazy. Now, though, you never know. Is it her grandmother? Boyfriend? Or is she just bonafide street person crazy?
I've always wondered about getting an implant like that, but I'm not too good with human to human communication, like I've said.
Then my legs got tired and I hopped on the bus. I guess it wasn't too long of a story.
posted by Adam Holwerda at 3:54 PM
1 Comments:
Yeah. So I was writing the new post and I inadvertantly wrote it over this post. Then I posted it. I HAD TO REWRITE THIS POST FROM MEMORY. So if it's different from what you remember, it's not because I edited it.
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