By Marcus Stringer
It's 6pm on a Friday, why shouldn't this freeway be jammed with traffic? People are on their way home, to a night on the town, or to escape town but for a few 48 hours. Away they drive, from the worries of work. Other unfortunate souls have spent their "weekend" on a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday… and still more have no choice. They must work, for they protect and heal. For them, there is no wonderment of Friday evening.
I look out of my bus window at the beads of raindrops, then past them to the chain of single-occupancy vehicles. Each driver is in his and her own world. They must tolerate each other to make this agonizing crawl continue. From where are they running? Where are they now running to?
The synthesized sounds produced by a skillful electronic-keyboardist flow from my headphones. I'm caught up in the sweat intentional calm. The weekend is the 'eye' of my work-a-day storms, and when the storms are particularly long or fierce, it's good to have nights like tonight. Tonight, I don't have a dinner date, or a concert to attend, it is just I - a single gay "nice guy".
The bus exits the freeway. I will soon grab a take-out from my favorite Taiwanese deli as I walk home from the transfer center. Once inside my small mid-sixties circa studio apartment, I lock the door and drop my tote bag onto the couch. It is cool and I first turn on the heat, then my favorite lamp that gives off a warm light. I see that there are no messages on my answering machine and head toward the kitchen to wash my hands and un-wrap the Cashew Chicken.
Mm, yes, it's still hot. With my food and utensils in hand, I shuffle back to the "living room". This is nice, to sit down and rest my aching body. I think about this simple pleasure. It is a blessing. How many men, women, boys and girls right around me, have no place to lay their heads? Having this place leads me to act, for everyone should have a nice clean, safe place to eat, sleep and live his or her life.
Eating dinner in silence isn't so bad sometimes. All that exists is the food, my apartment and me - and God. Dear God, thank you for this food, for the cook who prepared it. Thanks for the good hard-working people at the deli. Thanks for this apartment, a roof over my head and walls around me to keep out winter's cold, summer's heat and the rain - and yes, thanks for a good job to keep it all. In this quiet place I am rich.
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