February 22nd, 2010 §
I first met Bob the bum as he rolled out a foam mat in my office building’s lobby.
I was heading to a local pub for a bite to eat with four coworkers after having Friday post-work beers upstairs. We were all laughing, riding a steady buzz as we rounded the last flight of stairs leading into the lobby.
“Hey, man. You can’t sleep in here. They’re going to kick you out.”
The old man looked up at me. The wrinkles on his face blended to form deep crevices until a smile emerged. “Oh, sorry. I was just going to relax for a minute. I’ll be on my way right now.” He began hurriedly rolling up his mat, looking up every other second with a smile. My coworkers and I stepped out into the crisp February winter. I zipped my jacket right up to my chin, and watched as the condensation from my breath rose toward the street lights. I kept checking back over my shoulder waiting for the homeless man to emerge from the front doors.
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February 4th, 2010 §
I always love a good book recommendation. At least three quarters of my favorite books were brought to my attention by a direct recommendation from a friend. The fine people behind the scenes at Subtle Dig were kind enough, per my request, to put together a mini-side bar in the bottom right corner of this page listing some of my favorite books (you have to click on the full entry to see it). Each book I list below is available through a quick click. In full disclosure, the books are hooked up through an Amazon affiliate account so there is monetary incentive behind the widget. If you’re thinking, “I fucking hate this guy. I don’t’ want him to see a penny,” that’s cool. Feel free to skirt around and buy the books below on your own.
Let’s get to the good stuff:
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February 1st, 2010 §
When I was twenty-one, I split my palm open with a box-cutter.
Not on purpose, of course. I was cutting the straps off a bundle of flyers during my night job at a newspaper plant, and the knife slipped. As soon as it happened, though mostly painless, I knew I was in trouble. I walked over to the boss to tell her before heading to the bathroom to bandage myself up.
A short drive to the hospital and an hour later, I was lying in a bed waiting to get stitched up. A drunken, grubby man was in the bed across from me fighting off the doctors and nurses. I knew he was drunk because I could smell the alcohol. That, and the incoherent slurring. He had a large gash on his forehead, and did not like the medical staff poking and prodding him to see where else he hurt. Four cops were eventually called in, one to pin down each limb. They laughed when he said he had been beaten up for no reason while trying to sleep.
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