There is this guy who hangs out in the neighborhood. He must be homeless and an addict. I recognize his voice, echoing off the walls of the apartment complex. Hey, can I ask you a question? Do you have a quarter? I wonder where he goes when he isn’t in my world. I wonder what his deal is. I think maybe I should ask. I wonder why I haven’t.

Waxing, hair cutting, nail painting, moisturizing, teasing and primping, pinks and reds and whites, lace and leather. Valentine’s Day is bursting with all the right things.

Every now and then I have it all together. And I think, I’m not much worse off than anyone else. At least I like myself. At least I know who I am. I’m getting better all the time. Hope you are too.

I’ve been surfing down the 20 in my leather boots. standing in the aisle, sipping on my coffee. I’ve been over the same bumps, swaying back and forth with the turns the bus makes, zigging and zagging from the east to the west and back again. How you doing miss, how you doing. You first miss. You first. I’ll take your benevolent sexism. But I won’t take your seat. I like the way the bus moves me. I like the way I feel pressing back and forth with the acceleration. I like it when we stop and I am somewhere new. I like that I can go anywhere.

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