after I left the porn stars
It was almost three in the morning now as I walked up Capitol Hill, away from the porn stars, and in the direction of my car. Up John Street I walked, away from the madness of Broadway. 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, and I neared 15th, a semi-major intersection with a bus stop on the side I was walking and a Safeway grocery store across the street.
Normally my hair was in a braid but it had gotten so messy and frizzy because of the rain that I finally let it out and let it do what it would like a big 'fro.
A short black man with glasses was standing near the bus stop, watching me approach, and looked for sure like he was going to get my attention. As I came up to him I started to sing that familiar Public Enemy tune, "I can't do nuttin' for ya man, I can't do nuttin FO ya man!"
He laughed, and looked disappointed he'd been shot down so quick but still he talked to me. I was lonely from the porn stars and tipsy from the 211 Steel Reserve and he seemed like good company. He was. We stood in the street and talked and sang songs, and he told me why he needed change for the phone.
"Hmf," I said, after a while, "I guess I can do something for you then", and I handed him a couple of quarters, all the cash I had on me.
We went and sat down in the bus shelter and he sang cheesy late seventies sould tunes and I sang early nineties grunge songs and generally kept good cheer.
A strange man approached us. He was ruddy faced and wide eyed and had on some kind of shiny pants...like weatherproof pants...they were so shiny I thought they were wet. For some reason I thought the guy I was talking to must have known this guy because he came over and sat next to me and I asked him what his name was.
His name was Chuck. "I'm really lost," he said. And not much else. He seemed a little dazed, and I assumed he was homeless, too. The other guy and I kept talking, and Chuck sort of gently wrapped his hands around my arm. I didn't mind, I was feeling expansive and bright and happy to be alive, sitting in a bus shelter. Chuck sort of curled up into me a little, resting his head against my chest and hanging on to my upper arm.
Mah' man had asked Chuck if he would get him something to eat and Chuck didn't seem to hear. Finally I said, "Hell, I'll feed you...what do you want?"
He started talking about going to a grocery store halfway around the nieghborhood, even though there was one right across the street. I wanted to know what the hell he was talking about.
Turns out that what he wanted was hot beans. Bush's Baked Beans..."the kind with a touch of maple," he said, with lights in his eyes. But he didn't agree with the night manager at that grocery store, or the other nearby grocery store. He wanted hot beans, and wanted to be able to use his little vietnam-war era can opener and microwave the suckers at the deli.
I told him I'd just go in myself and get him some beans (with a touch of maple) and open them and microwave them and it wouldn't be such a big deal. And some chocolate milk? Yes, and some chocolate milk.