It's not quite midnight yet,and I'm quite restless.I go to the bathroom and find that one of the other tenants has pissed all over the seat.I should say something to whoever it was,but I likely won't.The peace can sometimes be rather fragile in a living situation like this,so maybe I'll just leave it alone.I grab a [piece of yesterdays leftover pizza and take it outside, where a startle a big jackrabbit.Skunk is in the air too, so it won't be an overly cold night.A police car races past,southbound on Center Street.My legs are a bit stiff,so I take a walk down the street.Just to fortieth avenue and back.I think I'll call the office in the morning to see if they have any trailers to unload on Monday.Two full days off is a bit much for me.
Living up here on the North Hill is kind of isolated.There are parts of town that really have very little in them.going anywhere from here is a long walk, though I do walk downtown reasonably often.That takes about an hour.When I lived in the Mission district, I walked everywhere I went.Calgary is very spread out, but everything was handy.I'd go downtown to the library nearly everyday.The supermarket was only a couple of blocks away, and I was in the habit of buying my food daily, so that it was as fresh as it could be.Most days there was a homeless man waiting outside the supermarket door panhandling.I never gave him any money, but usually I would buy a fresh loaf of French bread and a block of cheese, and hand it to him on the way out.I always made certain that he noticed that I was giving him the same bread and cheese that I was taking home for myself.Usually I'd give him a liter of juice or milk as well, and sometimes some cold cuts.He was an old.frail looking man in a wheelchair,and he always thanked me profusely.I never saw him anywhere drinking, so I didn't mind helping him out.Many years ago,though, I was going into a night class, and a man aggressively approached me asking for money.I brushed past him, in a hurry so that I could pick up a sandwich before class, as I'd been working all day.Inside the deli,I got a nice ham and Swiss sandwich, then ordered a second one.Outside, I took it to the guy who had approached me.He grabbed the sandwich, the threw it at me, calling me a judgmental bastard.But there is no such problem with the guy at the supermarket here in Calgary. So I try to be decent,as I see decency to be, but sometimes it backfires.
I used to walk to work too.I worked at the Iko mill for a while, and it was an hours walk.In the morning it wasn't bad, but sometimes at night I'd be so tired out I'd take a bus.It wasn't as though it was a very scenic walk.It went south of the Stampede Grounds, then through a rundown and mostly industrial part of town.Ogden road meanders all over the place so I would shortcut it along the railway tracks that ran right up to the back of Iko. It cut more than a half mile off the distance.There were very few trains, so it was safe.One morning though, I came around the curve in the tracks just south of Blackfoot Trail, and there on the tracks was a coyote.I didn't really know what to do, so I just kept walking toward it at a slow,steady pace,and with tall,erect posture.When I got within about fifty feet of her, she stepped down into the ditch,and,after allowing me to pass,followed me the rest of the way to work-almost a half mile. As it turned out,she had pups holed up in a little valley on the west side of the tracks.But it seemed that she'd come to know that I was no danger.She'd follow me each morning,then we'd part ways,with me going down one side of the tracks toward the mill,and her going down to her den, which was an old oil drum.When I discovered the pups, I'
d leave early so I could stop and watch them for fifteen minutes or so before work.then one day they were gone. A couple of months later I was gone too, having quit Iko. Too much bullshit, I thought, and I could be working again tomorrow.And I was.
Everywhere else I went I walked to as well.Most everyday I went downtown, for the whole time I lived in Mission.I was still using the library for email, emailing my mother nearly everyday.Sometime I would go out for East Indian food too, right where my street met 4th Street.On Mondays I'd hurry home,jump in the shower and take off for my jam session in the East village, then walk home later at night.It was a rather rough part of town, but nobody bothered me much, at least until I started walking with a cane,a bit later on.Thursdays was a jam night too,and sometimes I'd walk, though it was a long way, out Seventeenth Avenue,into Southeast Calgary.Still,I didn't mind as it was about the only socializing I ever did. Calgary started feeling like home. Sort of at least.It was living right next to the river that made that part of town a great place to live though.But I was stuck in my thoughts that it wasn't really home, but that I really couldn't be bothered moving anywhere else.So I told myself that it fit my style at the time, and mostly that was true.But it never really was a perfect fit.
It's past midnight now,and I lay down to rest again.Saturday Night Live is on,and I drift of to sleep to some skit that I can't remember.
Living up here on the North Hill is kind of isolated.There are parts of town that really have very little in them.going anywhere from here is a long walk, though I do walk downtown reasonably often.That takes about an hour.When I lived in the Mission district, I walked everywhere I went.Calgary is very spread out, but everything was handy.I'd go downtown to the library nearly everyday.The supermarket was only a couple of blocks away, and I was in the habit of buying my food daily, so that it was as fresh as it could be.Most days there was a homeless man waiting outside the supermarket door panhandling.I never gave him any money, but usually I would buy a fresh loaf of French bread and a block of cheese, and hand it to him on the way out.I always made certain that he noticed that I was giving him the same bread and cheese that I was taking home for myself.Usually I'd give him a liter of juice or milk as well, and sometimes some cold cuts.He was an old.frail looking man in a wheelchair,and he always thanked me profusely.I never saw him anywhere drinking, so I didn't mind helping him out.Many years ago,though, I was going into a night class, and a man aggressively approached me asking for money.I brushed past him, in a hurry so that I could pick up a sandwich before class, as I'd been working all day.Inside the deli,I got a nice ham and Swiss sandwich, then ordered a second one.Outside, I took it to the guy who had approached me.He grabbed the sandwich, the threw it at me, calling me a judgmental bastard.But there is no such problem with the guy at the supermarket here in Calgary. So I try to be decent,as I see decency to be, but sometimes it backfires.
I used to walk to work too.I worked at the Iko mill for a while, and it was an hours walk.In the morning it wasn't bad, but sometimes at night I'd be so tired out I'd take a bus.It wasn't as though it was a very scenic walk.It went south of the Stampede Grounds, then through a rundown and mostly industrial part of town.Ogden road meanders all over the place so I would shortcut it along the railway tracks that ran right up to the back of Iko. It cut more than a half mile off the distance.There were very few trains, so it was safe.One morning though, I came around the curve in the tracks just south of Blackfoot Trail, and there on the tracks was a coyote.I didn't really know what to do, so I just kept walking toward it at a slow,steady pace,and with tall,erect posture.When I got within about fifty feet of her, she stepped down into the ditch,and,after allowing me to pass,followed me the rest of the way to work-almost a half mile. As it turned out,she had pups holed up in a little valley on the west side of the tracks.But it seemed that she'd come to know that I was no danger.She'd follow me each morning,then we'd part ways,with me going down one side of the tracks toward the mill,and her going down to her den, which was an old oil drum.When I discovered the pups, I'
d leave early so I could stop and watch them for fifteen minutes or so before work.then one day they were gone. A couple of months later I was gone too, having quit Iko. Too much bullshit, I thought, and I could be working again tomorrow.And I was.
Everywhere else I went I walked to as well.Most everyday I went downtown, for the whole time I lived in Mission.I was still using the library for email, emailing my mother nearly everyday.Sometime I would go out for East Indian food too, right where my street met 4th Street.On Mondays I'd hurry home,jump in the shower and take off for my jam session in the East village, then walk home later at night.It was a rather rough part of town, but nobody bothered me much, at least until I started walking with a cane,a bit later on.Thursdays was a jam night too,and sometimes I'd walk, though it was a long way, out Seventeenth Avenue,into Southeast Calgary.Still,I didn't mind as it was about the only socializing I ever did. Calgary started feeling like home. Sort of at least.It was living right next to the river that made that part of town a great place to live though.But I was stuck in my thoughts that it wasn't really home, but that I really couldn't be bothered moving anywhere else.So I told myself that it fit my style at the time, and mostly that was true.But it never really was a perfect fit.
It's past midnight now,and I lay down to rest again.Saturday Night Live is on,and I drift of to sleep to some skit that I can't remember.
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