dgidt

1~10~00

weekends don't last nearly long enough when you have a job that makes them significant by giving you them off.
Used up Saturday by heading downtown. The place is immense. It seemingly never ends. In one area you can watch rich bastards through third story windows exercise on treadmills at what has to be the world's most upscale YMCA. This Y is no homeless shelter. Sculptures outside of the YMCA depict the glory of athletics and championship. They were fun statues to climb on.
In another area downtown the streets are filled with people looking for bargains on blocks that are store after store of tiny little spaces selling just about anything except anything, as I see it, anyone might want. If they can't afford shop space, then they hustle on the street by selling shrimp out of the trunk of their car or fried plantain off the back of a fused bicycle/ shopping cart contraption.
Some white bum in a tattered sweater stood at the exit of an alley spewing forth the reek of shit and urine. He followed Kirsten and I for a few steps before saying, "This isn't good neighborhood. And I'm not saying it will get stolen but that's a pretty good camera to have in this part of town."
"Oh, really?" I question, preoccupied with focusing on an old hotel sign.
"Yeah, just last week they threw a woman out of the third story window there for taking pictures."
Really?" I say again. Now he's irritating me because it is a well documented fact that homeless bums enshrouded in the stench of urine are rarely capable of dragging someone up to a buildings third floor just to launch them from a window. Then I add, "Was there a lot of blood?" turning my camera up to the indicated building's third floor. he didn't seem to know what to do with that question.
Then Kirsten spoke up, "We're doing an art project. Do you want to be art?" The white bum in the tattered sweater, the only person who talked to us, aside from security guards telling us not to go there or that we can't do that, this bum now seemed a tad disconcerted by us and appeared to long for the safety of his alley.
"Goddamn shit! Cabron!!" I look down the alley to the source of the profanity. Somebody in an apron is kicking around garbage down the alley. He is fairly pissed off so I decide against gawking at shit kicking dance for more than a few seconds.
I'm stunned by the run down, filthy nature of some blocks downtown and the absolute sterility of others directly adjacent. People kicking around and sleeping in garbage here; people ice skating and dining there. The public library is in the midst of it all playing host to all of the sorts congregating downtown. Kirsten and I stopped in. I picked up some Bukowski, Pushkin and a novel called 'Slackjaw' that was written by a Wisconsinite.
Part of the downtown quest was to gain roof access to one of the skyscrapers, but this proved more difficult than my theory about roof access stated. The elevators in most of the buildings are shutdown on the weekends. No office drones to go up, no reason to supply power to the elevator shafts. It's a job now to be conducted on a weekday. The tallest building I could find was 72 stories. Our access was limited to the 4th. We made it to the 31st of a hotel but roof access wasn't anywhere to be found and it wasn't quite as tall as I was hoping. Thwarted, drats.
For a quarter we took the Angel's Flight railroad down the hill. Angel's Flight is the shortest incorporated railway in the States at about 70 yards, if that. Once at the bottom we spotted a huge bustling market place. There I ate all sorts of tasty slimy things from the sea. Not sure what half of the stuff was. Didn't care either since it was my first meal of the day at 5:30 pm after walking around, up and down stairs for 6 hours. Next Saturday we intend to go again. This time I'll be sure to have film in my camera rather than running around like a jackass snapping off make believe pictures. We all have our moments.