Someone left a black leather briefcase at the bus station sometime earlier this week. They called in a bomb squad from over in Springfield after the thing sat there for hours emitting an aura of chilled sweat; it took them just as long to get their from what I've been hearing. They blew the thing up. Right there in the bus station, they blew that ****** briefcase to Hell and back after an X-ray found wires and a circuitry board. This is not a big city, it's not a small town either, but here we have a place that I arrive at twice daily getting pseudo-bombed and I can hardly scrape up the dollar for bus fare at times. A warehouse over on Jasper street caught on fire a few days later; an inferno in close quarters, so they knocked the old Bess over so the flames didn't spread. There is still a giant pile of rubble at the site; bricks with masonry companies imprint on the sides, rusty bars that were either too heavy, or too stuck for scrapping fiends, and a hell of a lot of odorous char. This is a winter of fire in Decatur, but the bones still chill.
The starter is going out in the 91' Cutlass that sits in my driveway braving the winds. I can hear that grinding noise; the expensive one. The one that says, "Your savings is low!" every time you think you're going to have a stable ride to work. The bus is reliable, the route is what will drive a sane man off the edge. You start to get sick of seeing the same ****** places, the same ****** turns, the same ****** bumps, and the same ****** passengers. Plus, the radio makes Monday just a little more tolerable when you get the option of stopping for breakfast. I like that car.
Friday seems like a back brace right now, and I've had just enough caffeine to where I don't think I can stand a nap. I'm just glad to have my shoes off, and the reassuring calm of an uncashed check. I'm starving.