13. Social Worker

A fine day for the social worker, I say.

No, it's not, I also say.

Just shoot me are my final words on that subject.

But no, I actually have to talk to the social worker today, a very unfavorite part of my job here.

"Hey, beats having a parole officer," Jack says every time I complain. I don't know about that. I might prefer a parole officer. They are tough and mean and get right down to business. Being busted for busting parole might be better than being cared about and empathized all over. She can't even empathisize me. She's a 27-year old college graduate who grew up in San LaLa and drives a blue Toyota. I saw her in her cute little tennis suit at Community Park last week. I hid behind the dumpster.

Guess I better go to my appointment.

I hate that mental health building. Not because it's old and drafty, I sort of like that. It's the orange plastic chairs that get me. Oh, and the very huge problem that I have to leave my cart outside. Sitting next to crying kids is no picnic either. But if I don't go, she comes and finds me and then I have to go anyway. Or she does our "session" in front of everybody, which is horrible just thinking about. Well, okay, she never did that, but if I don't go she might.

Her name is Eva.

I think she's some sort of Mexican. Eva Prettybrowngirl. No accent. I never heard her speak Spanish. Might be a Philippine girl, or Hawaiian. Or just very tan. I see her through the glass partitions, talking of course. That's what they do, social workers, they talk. She uses her hands a lot. Maybe she's Italian. No, they yell more. This one never yells, but I always feel that I am disappointing her. I answer her questions, which is more than I do for most people. I cooperate. I even appreciate what she does. I think they especially try to look out for us women. There didn't used to be so many women out here. It's the mental hospital crowd that has filled out the ranks. And drugs. Somehow alcohol seems to be more of a guy thing on the streets, but drugs is an equal opportunity amigo. However, this is not a very rough town, not in comparison to the city, so we are mostly no worse off than the men.

She's waving at me. Ugh, time to take my medicine.

Hey, that was not bad at all. Here I got all worked up for the grilling and instead she gives me a pass for this church I never heard of. Some special deal, with food, and a bed. I am happy to convert for such splendor, but she says I don't have to. Yeah, sure. If it looks like a church, and it sounds like a church, I say it is a church, and all churches want to save you and have you join up. But hey, a few Hail Marys are okay by me. What could it hurt?

12. Monkey Books

So this is the library. That little beeping sound reminds me of the forklift when I worked in the warehouse. That was a cute sound. This is creepy.

"C'mon," Tanya is pulling on me.

Why are peole always trying the make me do things? Just because she dragged me in here does not mean I'm staying. Door, over there. You always got to have an escape plan, not get distracted.

"Pssst! Betty!"

People are staring, you doofus. Tanya's whisper is more like a shout. Oh no. They're staring at me too. Shit. Guess I'll sit in this chair for a while. Okay, I can see my cart from here. In case you haven't guessed, I hate being stared at or even possibly being stared at. This is when it's good to be small. They'll forget about me in a while.

Where exactly am I? The mystery section. Real nice---blood, death, murder, betrayal, graveyard. No wonder I gave up reading. Monkey? That's weird in a mystery title. If I still had my glasses, I might take a look. "A Number of Monkeys." Doesn't sound much like a mystery. But there's something I remember...

Oh, yeah, this is where they had that circus, out there on the grass. A tiny circus for tiny kids. No one chased me away, so I stayed on that yellow bench by the roses, and watched. Their favorite was the monkey. A real monkey, with a red hat and a red vest, doing tricks and scampering. A monkey can do nothing but scamper, and it is just so wonderful. I never say wonderful, but that monkey was. All afternoon. I fogot to eat or pee or anything. Then it got dark and I had no sleep plan. That's what happens if you get distracted. I remember that about books too. Monkey murder, no thanks.

"Oh, goody, you're still here!"

Good for who? It's hard to breathe in this chair

"Frances, this is Betty!"

Frances? Oh, shit. Gotta go, gotta go.

"Gotta go, bye," I say. Sort of polite and I'm outahere. No, I did not look at her. Frances. She's probably nice, but I gotta go.

"Hello, Betty," says Frances.

Wait. I thought I left. Who is she talking to?

"I see you found a good chair."

What?! How am I trapped in this chair, still here, sinking. They are staring at me, I am staring at the floor, for a long time. She has purple shoes. I will not cry, no matter...

"Bye, Frances!"

Tanya is grinning and waving at this purple dress fluttering away, going over there, away away, gone. Whew. I can hear the beeping now.

"Let's go, Betty!"

Tanya gives me a tap, like she's a fairy with a magic wand. I swat her away and somehow get out of that chair and out the door.

The worst is over, but I don't know that. I grip my cart so hard my hands hurt. I look around for Tanya, but she has disappeared.

Time to breathe real air.

11. Culture Garden

"Hi, Roscoe," I say.

He's sitting on his usual bench in the outdoor sculpture garden. There's room for me. Jumpy comes out from under the bench, sniffs my hand, then flops back down in the dirt. Oh, it's you. He knows I never have any dog treats so I am not a big deal. It takes a lot to get Jumpy excited. He got named Jumpy when he was a pup, but I've never seen any signs of jumping. He creaks around just like Roscoe does. Old mates.

"How's it gun?" asks Roscoe.

I think he has an accent. Maybe just a hangover.

"Fine."

"Gud."

"Yeah."

We stare at the statues for a while, soak up some culture. All dog and cart people know about the sculpture garden. It's the only place where we can get near official artwork. City Hall has artwork, the library, some galleries, the bookstore. But you can't take dogs or carts in there, or noisy kids. I don't blame them. I don't want dogs, or carts, or noisy kids around either, which is funny considering I am glued to my cart. Does that mean I don't want me around? I am pretty boring. But these statues can be boring too. The man on the horse has been in that exact position forever. I do like looking at him though, not sure why. He's especially interesting right about now, when the museum is closing and the shadows start to make me wonder about other people's lives.

Oh look, bermuda shorts. That entire family is wearing bermuda shorts, a very ugly fashion. Why do people wear them? Men look better than women do. Maybe women don't realize how bad they look, even slim women. Kids look cute in anything, even bermuda shorts. Did I ever wear bermuda shorts?

"Did you ever wear bermuda shorts?" I ask Roscoe, nodding at the family heading for their car.

"Hmph."

"What?"

"Guess."

"Yes?"

"Nat."

Oh, guess not.

But I'll bet I did, in the summer. Playing in the summer with my sister. With our puppy. Running through the sprinklers. Long stretching summer. In the tree swing over the creek. Watching dragon flies buzz in the reeds, little frog croakings ...
*
*
*
*
*
Oh, no! Where am I?! It's dark!
Roscoe. Where's Roscoe?!
Oh shit, oh shit. Where's my cart?!
Get UP! No, wait. Ow!!
Falling again, the rocks and barbs and wire.
Wire. Oh, it's my cart, my cart, precious cart.
Don't cry, you dummy! Stop, it's okay.
That boy, that boy is there. Dog chasing frisbee.
No, it's not dark yet. Park closes at dark.
That boy and his big dog are still here. There's time. Whew.

Okay, so that's one of my not so great behaviors. It only happens when I wake up. Going to sleep is okay, depending on the circumstances, but the waking up can be a problem. For me, waking up feels like I've been on another planet, but I don't know it, and when I open my eyes I find myself on the ledge of some cliff, or about to step into quicksand or fall down an elevator shaft. It's worse if I wake up in the dark or almost dark like I just did. It's also harder to recover without anyone else noticing. Too much visible freakout is very bad. Lots of attention is something you don't want out here.

This is reminding of Jeremy the wolf guy. He was fine during the day. He always had cigarettes, some money. He could buy you a cup of coffee and talk about Canada and the news. Women liked him. His beard was neat and his flak jacket was clean. But at night he wasn't Jeremy. He was Wolf. Not like a werewolf---they are only wolves at full moon. Jeremy did it every night, howling, running around, scaring people, including us. When he was Wolf, Jeremy didn't talk. He just growled and whimpered and crouched down like he was going to attack. This behavior got him locked up. Too much weird behavior is to be avoided.

I guess compared to Jeremy, my little wakeup problem is not so bad.

10. Birdwatching

Birdwatching is a very convenient sport. I do it a lot. No equipment, no sweat. There are three kinds of birds I see all the time: crows, little brown birds, and hummingbirds.

The crows make the most noise. Loud and big and Boss, or so they think. Crows remind me of Mike's gang when they get going. Something sets them off and pretty soon they are yelling and pushing each other, creating a ruckus. If they keep it up too long, shopkeepers come and tell them to shutup. If they don't shutup, pretty soon a cop comes along. This is not good for the larger community, which includes me, so the damn crows need to Keep It Down!

The little brown birds work all the time. They go nuts building nests, like the world will end if they don't get enough string or twigs, which I guess it might for little brown birds. They are the PTA parents of bird town, living their lives to make sure their kids do what they're supposed to do. Sometimes they are stupid and build a nest where any cat could get it. Then they scream like maniacs when the cat tries, dive bombing the poor cat until it decides kibble is fine. Unless it is a street cat with no kibble, then adios bird children.

Hummingbirds are sweet freaks on speed. I relate to them because they are small and loners. You never see two hummingbirds, definitely no gangs of hummingbirds. Chirping and singing they do not do. Sometimes their wings wap the air so hard, it sounds like bees buzzing. I think this is the sound of being very, very busy, or maybe pissed off. Hummingbirds don't bother anybody and nobody should bother them. Cats don't, dogs don't even see them, and I see them all the time.

"Hey, man, check it out," someone whispers. "It's Betty."

"Shhh."

I hear footsteps.

"Here Betty, Betty, Betty."

Har dee har. I recognize that clever voice.

"Here Bitty!" And now the chorus. "Here Bitty, Bitty, Bitty!"

Bushes rustling, big clumping feet tripping. It's time for the horn. My, how it comes in handy for just such occasions. I take a deep breath and give it my best blow.

BURRRRAAAAHHH!!!!!

"Agh! Owwww!" Crash! Somebody goes down.

heh heh

"Yow, man!" Mike stumbles out of the bushes with his hands over his ears.

"Jesus, Betty," Jack whines from the ground. Gary steps over him.

"You didn't have to do that," Gary gets in my face.

"Sure she did," says Mike, giving Jack a hand up. "She's Betty!"

They all bust out laughing, brush off the twigs. Ha ha ha ha. This goes on for a while. Hyena rituals. I'm not sure what's next.

"Hey, lemme see that." Mike grabs my horn.

I brace myself for a loud one, but instead he winds up and throws the horn deep into the bushes where my cart cannot go. I use all my will power to keep my face a mask. I do not care about that horn. It was taking up too much space. I don't know where it came from.

Mike is staring at me with that mean grin, waiting for me to crack. He pats my head.

"Aw, poor Betty gonna cry?"

He makes his ugly sad clown face, crossing his eyes about an inch from my face. My stomach hurts a lot, but I do not cry.

Gary lobs a pine cone at Jack, and they start laughing and playing basketball around my cart. I hold my breath forever, and finally they lose interest and leave, shoving each other off the path as they go.

"Hey, quit it!"

"Yeah, make me!"

"Shutup!"

"Bye, bye, Betty!" Mike waves at me. "Luego!"

9. Libraries and Carts

"No c'mon, it's okay."

Tanya is hanging on my sleeve. I shake her off. Why she is bugging me about this I don't know. Why I am not just popping her one I don't know either.

"The bathroom is real nice, with warm water."

She means the library, which I have never set foot in. And now they are opening the doors. The sleeve tugging is getting annoying.

"Oh, goody, there's Frances!"

Oh goody? I forget this is how Tanya talks. Off she goes with her big sappy smile.

If people knew what she is really thinking, they wouldn't be smiling like this Frances the Librarian is. For a minute, they look like friends, Tanya and Frances, which they definitely are not. Tanya is one of the certifiable ones, but her muttering is not loud enough to scare people too much and get the cops called. She smiles all the time, which most of us don't, so that sometimes fools people. Golly, gee, whiz---they're waving at me. I secretly give Tanya the finger and ease back into the trees with my cart. Finally she's gone.

No, I don't wonder about the library, or what Tanya does in there all morning. I got other places to find hot water.

Tanya means well, but she doesn't understand about carts. You don't leave your cart. It's like Jumpy, Roscoe's dog. Roscoe never leaves Jumpy, ever, unless he passes out. Then I watch Jumpy, or Tony does, until Roscoe wakes up. The cart people and the dog people are natural allies. (No cats. Cats will not put up with this life for a minute.) The backpack people and the many pockets people go wherever they want, if they are tidy looking and relatively quiet. So do the runaway kids who don't have anything. The bag people are in the middle, depends on the nature of the bag and whether they act like they're going to steal something or not. Most of us make regular people suspicious even if we're not doing anything, so the big baggers are usually stuck more with us cart and dog people even though we got nothing in common with them.

Then there are the ones who have a place to go at night, maybe a condemned building, or a shed on some back property, or a forgotten garage. Like Robin Williams in that Fisher King movie. His place was a palace and so he was the king.

Did I dream this? Who the heck is Robin Williams?

What I do know is there's a risk to having a place. We'd rather crash in a place off the radar than in a shelter or a park bench or a car, so anyone that knows a place to sleep is quite popular. And we're not too good at keeping secrets. Pretty soon the place is overrun and all your stuff is gone, especially if the drinkers or dopers find it. Sometimes the cops find it. Sometimes the owners tear it down, or sell it. If you don't have a place, you don't have to worry about how miserable you would be if it was gone. On the good side, you wouldn't have to drag your stuff around with you like I do. And, best of all, you wouldn't have to worry about where to sleep every night.

There's always goods and bads to everything.

8. Money

There are many ways of getting money out here. I mean aside from having a job or someone to bum off who has a job. I'm not counting criminals, or rich peoples' kids, or people who are temporarily without funds and it really is temporary. Some of us get money from the government due to being certifiably something. The vets often get government pension money. The tidy guys like Mike and Jack can get day labor. Marianne used to clean houses until she got a cart. I understand how that is because you can't leave your cart.

Panhandling is the main way we get money. Some people can't walk by a "needy person" without handing over some cash. This is a mystery to me, but I am happy to take it. They feel good, I feel good. Fair deal. Not really, but it's part of the code.

For most of us, it's true that we are somewhat broken and cannot (or will not) muster what it takes to hold a job, or have a home or family. Chuck claims he loves living on the street, free as a bird, no responsibilities. Tell me that one when it's January and 20 degrees. We're not a merry tribe and we don't want a hug. We all have dark stories and I'm not telling mine.

"Wow, that was the best!" Cal left half his fries so I ate them. McDonald's fries are tres gourmet. "My dad gave me the money."

Ah.

"So how's your dad?"

"Balder. I had to go to church."

"Your dad paid you to go to church?"

"Sort of."

"So how's God?" We smile.

"God is fine, hunky dory." Cal draws a big smiley face in his notebook, labels it GOD. Then he draws a big frowny face and labels it MOM.

"Your mom was there?"

"Yep."

"Bait and switch?"

"Yep." Cal starts scribbling intently.

I suddenly have an urgent need to know where my cart is. It's practically next to me on the other side of the window, but I am looking everywhere but there and getting panicked. Cal looks up and points his pencil at the cart (he knows me pretty well). I feel silly when I see how close it is. Sometimes I get these scared feelings over nothing. Once I tried to explain how it feels, but it came out sounding like a big mess, which it is as far as I'm concerned.

Cal puts the trash in the trash and wipes off the table with his sleeve.

"Were you a waiter?" I ask.

"Yep."

We exit McDonald's, pick up my cart, and head on down the avenue. All things considered, a fine day.

5/6/07

7. Chez McDonald's

Boy, oh boy, do I love the bathroom in McDonald's.

I feel very light without my cart, sort of like a mother escaping from her baby. At first, it's wonderful, almost like flying, but only for a while. I know I'll be wanting to get back with my cart soon. At least I know it's in good hands. Cal is maybe the least distractable of all of us, downright steady for a mood swinger. He has a lot of focus. Even if a cop walks up, Cal stays calm. Marianne says it's because he is dissociated from reality. I wish I could be a little more dissociated from reality.

Anyway, when I get back from using up all the soap in McDonald's, my cart is right there next to Cal, where I left it, safe and sound.

"Wanna go to McDonald's?" Cal asks.

Whoa. Didn't I just go there?

"I got money!" he grins and holds up a five. "Me and Abe invite you to dine with us at Chez McDonald's!" He sweeps me a gentleman bow.

Okay then. I am cool, I am calm, I am not all excited about actually eating in McDonald's. Cal parks my cart by the window so we can see it and opens the door for me. I am the Queen.

Yeah, I was just in here, eyeballers. Stare all you want. We got money.

Cal marches up to the counter and tries to order a steak and baked potato. Then lobster. The kid at the register is confused.

"How about a Big Mac?" I say.

"Oh, yeah," Cal says dreamily. "A really big Mac!"

"And a chocolate shake?" I like those.

"Yeah, and a strawberry shake! And double fries and Mcnuggets and a salad and two apple pies and a McFish..." Cal rambles on in his actor voice, the kid foolishly trying to punch all the buttons on the register. I gently extract the five from Cal's hand and hold it up so the kid can see how much money we actually have. Kid stares at the five. Cal is still going. The kid stares some more. Finally the boss guy takes over, erases the register, and punches in what five dollars will buy.

Some of the people waiting think this is funny, others definitely don't. I personally am quite amused, which happens a lot around Cal, especially if he has that mouse in his pocket. At last we are seated at the garden table with our fine dinner of cheese burgers, fries, and the best cokes in town.

I wonder where Cal got the money.

6. Ducks

"Pssst! Betty!"
Huh?

"Betty!!"
I don't see anybody, so I start pushing the cart slow and easy. You have to be careful around some of these guys. Suddenly someone jumps out in front of me. My heart lurches.

"Betty, it's me!!"

Cal.

"Jesus, Cal." My heart is still pumping hard.

"C'mon!" He starts pulling on my cart. "I gotta show you something!"

Okay, okay. Gimme a minute. I'm usually glad to see Cal, but surprises are not my cup off tea. Plus, I don't like being ordered around. I finally let go of the cart and off he goes. I cringe as Cal almost crashes my cart into one of those wheel chair guys. Guess I better get a move on. This is not my usual speed at all. Cal is more of a jack rabbit type, and I am more of a fiddler crab type. But he's got my cart.

"Check 'em out!" he stops hard at the fountain by the train station. I mostly care if my stuff is okay, which it seems to be, so yeah, what? I look around. Cal is gazing at the fountain which seems normal to me. Pretty rocks, pink and yellow flowers, bubbling water. Oh, I see. The ducks.

"Aren't they something?" he sighs.

Two mallard ducks float in the fountain, a brown girl and a green-headed boy. How. Very. Cute. If I had my camera phone with me I'd take a picture and then call up Dr. Phil and tell him about true love. Instead, I laugh. This is why everybody likes to be around Cal. I haven't laughed in three, four days. I pushed right by that fountain and didn't notice the ducks. Cal has his notebook out and is scribbling, probably a poem about world love.

Oooh, ooh! Here's my chance to use a nice bathroom. "Hey, Cal. Can you watch my stuff?"

"Sure, Betty." He's still writing. Should be a while.

"I'm going over to that McDonald's." He nods. "Be right back."

5/6/07

5. Food

Now I'm getting on to hunger. I try to forget about food as much as I can, because it can be difficult to get. I am not as sociable as some people who like going to the soup kitchen or asking for handouts. You should talk to people if you partake of their free food, which I rarely feel like doing, so it's the hard way for me.

Food is one area where it's helpful that I'm small. I don't need much food. Sometimes I wonder how the drinkers stay alive. When they have money, they automatically go for more booze, maybe cigarettes, but not food. Or they forget to eat. And what about large people? They must need a lot of food. And, therefore, Betty, maybe that's why there are mostly skinny people out here. Duh.

Ah, ha! I still have a power bar down in the catacombs of my pockets. I never thought of going to the baseball field during a game until Mike told me about it. The kids nag their parents for a bunch of snack bar food, and then drop half of it down through the bleacher seats. What a feast. And afterwards, I trade Mike my chips and licorice for his power bars, since he doesn't like healthy stuff.

I love power bars. I can make one bar last for an hour. It's a skill. I used to drive my little sister crazy, since she is a wolfer, as in wolf it down. Her candy would be gone and I would just be getting started, licking the chocolate nice and slow, to torture her. This stopped working when she got bigger than me and just grabbed my candy. I knew better than to cry for justice, since I sort of deserved it, but also because she could punch pretty hard. Out here I break off little pieces to nibble and keep the main part of the bar hidden for later.

Oh, look, an apple. How long has that been in there? Did Dave give this to me? He gets apples at the grade school after their lunch hour. Kids don't eat fruit, at least not un-cutup fruit that is big enough to throw, like an apple or an orange. They leave such goodies around the picnic tables, sometimes bananas too. The principal usually has a posse out to keep us away, especially Dave since he looks dangerous in that trench coat. But some days he's lucky. He doesn't like carrying extra food, so he shares with whoever happens to be around looking hungry. I'm good at that.

If you got a cart, there are places you just can't go, and school yards are one of them.

Wow, a power bar and an apple. That's quite close to a balanced meal.

5/5/07

4. George Washington

Ha. There's George Washington panhandling outside of Jewel Market. A chair made out of boxes, a sign, and a cup. Right after church too. Very business-like.

He's got a lot of nerve, George Washington. I see a new veteran's patch on his jacket, which I doubt is true considering the stories he tells about himself. Or maybe the stories are the lies, and he really was in the Army. I do admire his style, though I would never do it, straight out asking for money. I'd rather wash car windows at stop lights, but I'm too short. How do I get by? Sometimes it's a big fat mystery.

"Hola, Betty!" George Washington waves and gives me that shiny smile. I don't even look up.

"Feliz navidad!!" he yells.

Crazy guy. It's May, not Christmas. Hey. When did he learn Spanish? And when did I learn Spanish? Maybe it rubbed off from the day worker guys that hang out at St. Mark's in the mornings. Sometimes they share a cup of coffee or one of those weird Mexican pastries. Last week I noticed that I understood what they were saying. Maybe I'm from Mexico. Pequeno bettita linda. Yeah, right.

Look at that. George Washington is flirting with the blonde lady and her blonde collie.

People are not worried about George Washington like they are about some of the other guys. He is kind of ragged, but he doesn't have that intense look in his eyes that might mean trouble. I wish I had that intense look in my eyes. I practice it in a mirror, but I just look mad, not scary. I hate it when people come up to me. Little kids try to see what's in my cart. No one would do that with Tony's cart. That cart looks like it might explode. I guess Tony looks like he might explode too. No one comes near us if I'm with Tony. But George Washington is a magnet, so I keep away from him.

He sure does keep his eye on the ball. Grand finale, money in the cup, clink clink swish! Everybody smiling, transaction complete. And away goes the fancy car.

George Washington makes it look so easy, which is definitely not true.

3. The Cart

Sometimes I am so strong this cart is like a feather. Betty, warrior princess. I like having a bat in there, just in case. Never had to use it. At least I think it's in there. What if I lost it? There was that time those kids took my cart away, maybe they took my bat. They were riding my cart around the park, laughing and throwing the dolls and shoes. There wasn't anything I could do, just had to wait until they got tired of riding the cart. I cried then too. Almost anyone would be upset about that happening, not just me. After they left I gathered up my stuff and loaded the cart very carefully. I think the bat was in there. Better check!

Whew. The plunger is in there too. And the brick. I feel much better.

Maybe I'll go over to the news stand. I like the news stand It's dark and very tiny and the smell reminds me of something good in the past, but I can't remember what. Wait. What day is this? Oh yeah, Sunday. News stand not open yet. Oh, well. Guess I'll sit on this bench for awhile and disturb this fine lady and her fancy dog.

There she goes. Score one for the team.

The guys scare away a lot more people than I do, but I have the biggest cart, which scares some people even more. I don't know why. My cart doesn't smell near as bad as some of the drinkers do. However, the cart definitely limits where I can go. I am not footloose and fancy free like Gary and Mike. I got responsibilities. The only bathrooms my cart fits in are the cement ones in the parks, which I hate because they are fureezing. But you gotta wash up. When Cal's around I can let him watch my cart. Then I get to use a nice bathroom. I know where all of them are too.

That tatoo girl was being nice. Kids don't know any better.

5/5/07

2. Tatoo Girl

Ow! Where'd that dang curb come from? How am I supposed to get anywhere if I can't even steer this cart? Maybe Tony's a little bit right about it being too big. Well, too big in comparison to teeny, tiny Elizabeth Whatshername. Where the heck did the name Betty come from anyway? Mom would have a cow.

What's this? How'd a baby pacifier get into my cart? Better keep it. I'll just tidy up the mess that nasty old curb made. There, there now. All my stuff nice and cozy.

I like checking on my stuff, just to be sure it's where it should be. You never know where you're going to find good stuff out here. Like that backpack that says Mono Lake. It's quite attractive with that little bird woven onto the pocket. Broken zipper doesn't bother me. I keep my socks and personal lady stuff in there, like my brush.

Last week I found lip gloss over where the teenagers hang out behind the market. Flavored lip gloss. Who thinks of this stuff? It tastes kind of good, strawberry I think. Teenagers lose a lot of things. Jackets, hair ties, CDs. Once I found some earrings and a set of car keys, but I didn't take them. I bet they drive their parents nuts. I sure did, but not from losing things.

Oh, no. Where's my Dodgers hat?
It was in here yesterday. Where is it!?
Hurry, Betty. Damn, damn, I hate it when this happens.
Not me! I didn't. Stupid curb! Ow!
Stupid, stupid...

"Are you okay, lady?" I freeze.
Don't cry, Betty. Stop it now.

Agh! She's touching my stuff! I try to pack my stuff in tighter, but more keeps falling out of the cart. Such a mess. Colors on the ground, glass, clothes. My Dodger's hat! I stuff it under my sweater and glare at her.

"All chill now, " the girl lifts my cart back on the sidewalk and pats my stuff.

Betty! Calm down. She's being nice.
Okay I know. My stuff is okay. I know.

There she goes with her tatoos, walking away, that girl.
She was being nice.

5/5/07

1. Typical Losers

"Hey, Betty! What'd you find?"

I'm thinking get away, you creep. None of your beeswax. This is my stuff so get away.

"Dude, Betty scored something."

Oh, no. What are these guys doing here? They are not usually out this early. This is not my lucky day.

"That's nothin'. Lookit this!"

Yeah, right. Like Tony looks so cool in a ripped red windbreaker. I wouldn't wear that thing on a bet.

"Neat, huh?" Tony is such a showoff, and loud too, strutting his raggedy self around. Some people just enjoy being stupid is all I can figure. Ugh.

"You look like a crossing guard," says Mike. Everyone laughs, including me. I got to admit, Mike is good at insults.

"Yeah?" Tony doesn't even know he got insulted. I like that about him. At least he isn't always starting fights. Okay, that windbreaker maybe doesn't look so bad. I could wear it on top of the sweaters if the wind comes up. I wonder if he'd make a trade. What have I got in here...

"Ha, ha, there she goes scrabbling through her stuff. Like a chipmunk!"

Ha ha, shutup, Jack. I wonder if Tony would want these slippers. They are way too big for me. Maybe the bowling trophy? Guys like that kind of stuff.

"Hey, Betty! Can't you find a bigger cart?"

And now everybody is laughing at me. I don't need this. I should have listened to that little voice saying 'turn around and go the other way.'

Wait. They're smoking! Who has the smokes? These guys do not usually have cigarettes.

"Want one?" Mike holds out the pack, pretending to be friendly. I think about the tradeoff of taking one, what strings are attached. Uh, uh, uh... Then I cave.

"Okay," I finally say. But they better not be getting any ideas. I don't belong in this bunch.

"Here ya go, shweethaht," Mike passes the pack to me. No bugs jump out. So far, so good. Mike is humming that song from Casablanca. I lift out a cigarette and Gary gives me a light. I sit.

Hmmm hmmm hmmm. Nice breeze, a little sun, good healthy smoke in my lungs. Must be spring. Yeah, springtime. The smoke cloud around us feels all cozy. Copacetic. It's not like I'm never sociable, I'm just choosy. And alert. Always alert to whatever disaster is peeking in.

"I'm heading over to St. Mark's at lunch," coughs Gary.

"Yeah? What they got?"

"I don't know."

"I really like the macaroni and cheese at Methodists."

"Nothing beats Sunday pancakes."

"Man, you're making me hungry!"

Sometimes these guys sound like a food club. It's probably because they got nothing better to do than talk about their next meal. When are they going to leave is what I'm wondering. This is my spot and they are not supposed to be here until much later. I know they'll stay and keep smoking until the pack is gone, so I either gotta sit back and go with their flow, or head out. My first decision of the day.

"I heard the cops rousted Bob and Janette last night," says Jack.

"Yeah?"

"I guess Community Park is not the best place for romance," Mike chuckles, then everybody chuckles. We know about Bob and Janette.

"Shutup!" says Gary out of the blue.

"Shutup?" Mike's eyebrows go up. He slowly gets off the bench.

"Yeah, shutup!!" Gary stomps his cigarette out. You just never know what's going to set them off.

"Well, shutup to you too!!" The old push and shove starts. Tony backs off, Jack joins in. Guy stuff. I slide one more cigarette out of the pack and quickly plan my exit. Tony's cart makes a huge crash as it goes down

"Hey, cut it out!" I'm already across the street.

"Bye, bye, Betty!" somebody yells. I don't even look back.

Sayonara, you mutts.