I've mentioned Pete before, and what seems to be the biggest mystery in my life. At times I think I am him, an extension of myself when it seems my spasticity cannot be held inside just one body. Saturday evening, as I waited for the last bus home, I talked with Pete in a one-sided way. He literally looks like a human tree, and I'm not saying that in a snide or pitiful way. This cop named Rick gave me a bit of info, something about Pete having been beaten up as a kid. I suppose that might account for some sort of paralysis, because I would think he'd be more mobile even if he had Parkinson's. So I talked to Pete, looking at his eyes for recognition, as every sound he makes, every single one, is like hearing wind in a cave. For those not familiar with Pete, I used to see him begging for money on buses back in the 1980s. Another survivor. He let me talk with him, most times he is shy, and I gave him all the singles I had in my wallet. All of a sudden he motioned, I turned and saw a stubby little PACE bus meant for the handicapped. So I now know he does go somewhere, but I can't figure why Pete is abandoned for most of the day. Maybe he just can't stay at home in a little room. I bought a Superman action figure yesterday, its in my backpack. Next time I see Pete, its his. The universal sign of friendship.
Now, back to the shoe. Bob might be right. Hell, he likely is. I mentioned that the shoe likely was lost, it was near a Salvation Army truck, I've seen lots of what I call halfies in my time. But today I was coming back from getting my Frankenstein shots in my neck and back, plus my typing finger, dammit all. It is hard to describe unless you are a true pedestrian, but I found myself on that same stretch of curb, only a dozen feet down. I had placed my hand on a street pole to balance myself, the after effect of the shots in my neck (right behind my left ear) gets me dizzy at all the wrong times. This time, it was right. There was an odd hanging thing of paper flowers around the poles metal band. You see those for only one reason, because a kid died there. Nothing on the Burbank news, but its rare that there is a slow news day because of the Chicago feed. I have a photo of the remembrance thing on my current role of film.
Odd. I somewhat solve the story of the shoe, but I also now know, like, 85% more about Pete than I ever have in the last quarter-century. If he doesn't shy away as he often does, I might offer to read to him from the paper, or a comic or story. When I'm done here, I've always said that I'd be arm-wrestling my Creator over why I was made into this monster. In the case of Pete, I think I'll kick my Creator in the ass, just for good measure. PS See how much I can type (and quickly) when I'm full of the crazy injections. But they fade away within a week, oh fucking well.
