I probably looked like any other derelict in the bus station; dirty cap precariously askew on top of my earphones, well worn backpack and my fingers nervously tapping metal buttons in my pockets. I was coming down from the emotional high of a family visit. The buttons and the visit are a story for another day. The station had its usual cast of characters, including an abundance of young college aged girls in their summer outfits returning from weekend visits. This was not the usual Friday/Sunday crowd you see when the colleges are in session. Then its large backpacks, jeans and pillows. This had a breezier feel; pink summer sun dresses, few signs of caffeine/speed cram session jitters. Yeh, I look; this is a Sunday afternoon at the bus station, not your daughter's wedding reception. Actually I would probably have wandering eyes at that too! I don't get too many invitations.

Sitting on a park bench

eyeing little girls with bad intent.

Snot running down his nose.

greasy fingers smearing shabby clothes.

My Sansa was playing tunes from Simon and Garfunkel's Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme album. One of the curses of being a recovering alcoholic is the lingering feeling of being "unwanted". No matter how many of the "steps" you may have completed, you know that you are never completely forgiven for the pain you may have caused. You always believe that they (family, friends, lovers, co-workers) know you can do it again. A recovering alcoholic, if they are honest with themselves and their disease, knows that he or she is only one drink away. Thus the family's suspicions and drunk's paranoia are both justified!

Before three songs had gone through my head, I had followed the actions of three "unwanted" individuals. I started to break out in a panic. There was a story here, but I had neither pen nor paper. I knew I could possibly record with the Sansa, but that would be too invasive. I would no longer be an invisible observer. Years ago, before leaving for my Peace Corps assignment, I had read that some tribal members in the old Belgian Congo believed that the camera could capture their soul. I didn't bring a camera. As I get older, I wonder if I paid too high a price for that sense of "respect" for others. Every day I see "money" shots taken by young volunteers, missionaries and NGO personnel. These are the same young people who crash lines at bus stations. Enough of that rant; we bred em, spoiled them and now have to live with them. No one but ourselves to blame. I am what I am, and I still had my fear of "soul catching".

The South Station bus terminal in Boston has a small news stand. Only three people at a time can fit in. There were at least four surrounding the small displays. With my pack I took up the space of two, but knew that my thoughts were fleeing fast. I bulled my way in. On the wall I saw a couple of small notebooks next to the condom display. I grabbed a book and kept looking: lip balm, batteries, combs and handy wipes. I pondered the lone yellow highlighter; close, but I would never be able to decipher the notes when I got home. The "line is thinly drawn 'tween joy and sorrow". I had 50% of what I needed. I carefully turned around so as not to knock everything down. I waited my turn at the counter.

I put my notebook on the counter. "Do you sell pens or pencils? Without hesitation the clerk reached down and placed a small black pen on the counter. Again, without hesitation I pulled out $20.00 and slapped it down. I would have left without any change if he hadn't put some money on the counter. With great joy, I raced, "Shadowed by the exit light", back to continue my holy task:

His restless eyes leap and scratch

At all that they can touch or catch.

And hidden deep within his pocket

Safe within its silent socket

He holds a colored crayon

I will continue soon with the story of "The woman with the dog, the bus driver and the escaped convict".

For now, you may enjoy reading: The ad said: "No faint-hearted, pusillanimous, pussyfooting marchers, if you please! RSVP"

Also, may I recommend for your enjoyment: Send great evils to the wicked and great blessings to the righteous.

I am by no means ready to die! So, with that fact established, let's begin at the beginning: See links for all the Genesis posts to date: Genesis Through My Eyes

In my not too distant past, if I were to see a street person, a bum, sleeping in a door front or on a park bench, I would have kept my distance and perhaps shrugged my shoulders.: He had the "smarts" to ask someone where to go, I didn't

Come back often to see what these piglets are discussing. Pork may be on the menu. Menu changes frequently.

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