Morning Commute: Entry Twenty-One

I haven't commuted all week. I mean, I've gone to work (except Tuesday when I worked remotely) but I didn't take public transit. I drove.

I listened to music on the drive. Some of it (about 45 seconds) I wrote and recorded myself. It's a personal song I wrote but not for me. I wrote it for a guy I will call Joey who asked me and others to write a personal song; to record it to analog four track; in a place that I do not normally record things; and to give it to him for a compilation. I like the song I recorded. I play piano which I don't normally do but I played it well. After all I only had to play good for 45 seconds. I listened to that song over and over in the car on the way to work today, and yesterday.

The other songs I listened to, I also recorded. But that is a trick answer because I recorded them to CD from vinyl 45's. They are not my songs in that I did not write them or play them or anything like that. I was surprised at some of the 45's I happen to own, like Really Red, Thirteen Floor Elevators, and Carl Perkins. I did not know I owned any Carl Perkins.

But I do. And I like him.

Morning Commute: Entry Twenty:

What a beautiful day. It's an easy walk to the stop, a breezy ride cross town on the 49 Express.

A Puerto Rican mother and daughter get on after me. They sit across from me. They never look at me. They are immaculately dressed - new sneakers, new jeans, new jackets. Especially mother, she is a counter balance to the city's grime. Her white jacket, shoes and pink handbag repel dirt as if protected by a force field of purity. The little girl is a cutie. She will be beautiful like her mom, though she won't have those fantastically impenetrable teal eyes.

Mother picks up her cell phone and in common commute fashion (of a certain commuting element) spews rank fire from her pursed lips. It is a dangerous fire that needs only itself to feed on. The safest distance is on the other end of the line (provided the commute is not in the direction of the receiver). Like smoke, it can permeate your skin, especially around the head. It contaminates you.

The little cutie is oblivious to the flames. She is small enough to escape its vile fumes, but for how long? The source is a dry and brittle mess, ready to spontaneously combust at any moment. Her polished nails are weapons. Her tattoo, scribbled across the top of her wrist, jasmine, is a battle scar. Her white clothes are a sponge, absorbing all the grime that surrounds her yet leaving a veneer that says this is what I would like to be, pure unstained and new.

Morning Commute: Entry Nineteen:

Morning Commute: Entry Eighteen:

Some lyrics I wrote on the commute...

Manny liked to run. He had a theory...
running tells the body, it is in danger.
Manny believed that this is good for your heart, you see?

Manny ran bezerkly,
as if something dark and scary was hunting him.

That was a problem because Manny lived in the bustling city.

It would also be a problem in the country
because dark and scary things
have a tendency
to be attracted to things
that run bezerkly
globally.

The cops stopped him, padded him down for loot.
A would-be hero took out his neighbor
he thought was in pursuit.

A van hospitalized him,
nearly paralyzed him,
de-theorized him.

Manny's heart kept pumping anyway.

That was a problem because...
Manny truly was being hunted by a dark and scary thing.

Morning Commute: Entry Seventeen:

TTN* Food Tip:

Canned Fish.

Look for fish canned in water. It is lower in fat and salt than fish canned in oil.



*Transit Television Network

Morning Commute: Entry Sixteen:

TTN* Trivia Question:

Q. How many times a day does a woman laugh?


A. 55


*Transit Television Network

Morning Commute: Entry Fifteen:

The new buses are fine. The ride is bumpier. These buses have monitors that show us the weather report, news from Reuters and advertisements. They have more leg room. These buses have commuter card readers. The old buses did not so I had to pay cash or use a 30-day pass. This means I will save money because I've been buying 30-day passes for the convenience even though I don't commute every day.

It is strange to sit on a city bus on the express way. I wonder what would happen if I pulled on the string to request a stop at the toll way oasis. It's not an official bus stop so I guess the driver would not have to oblige me. But they have a variety of treats there for everyone.

Morning Commute: Entry Fourteen:

Morning Commute: Entry Thirteen:

Morning Commute: Entry Twelve:

It's almost bright when I leave the house. The blue sky is peeking through the residual clouds of last night's snow storm, reflecting off fresh white surfaces.

St. Patrick's Day is around the corner. So reminds himself taking a seat in front of me with his green baseball cap with white shamrock and his green jacket with plaid lining. Black Irish of the Southside.

His hands are long and calloused. The kind one can imagine emphasized in a woodcut. He takes great care with everything they touch. They study the Sun-Times which they carefully unfolded and removed from a string binding. They move across one particular article for several stops. They extract the advertisement inserts and neatly fold the paper and set aside. Each insert is systematically studied, folded and placed inside the largest insert which is creased at the end to keep them all together. This is tucked into the newspaper which is rolled once, placed back into its string binding and inserted into a slim black bag in perparation for exodus. Is coma nos alicubi in downtown tunnel