bring the noyz

Another one of the annual Rites of Spring has come and gone. As long as my fair city continues to hold this hedonistic holiday some hope remains for the future. All is not yet lost.

It was the usual scene of hipsters and hippies of all generations, in various stages of dress and undress. Some truly marvelous sights to behold. Others, not so much. Everyone dancing, drumming, drinking beer after beer after beer, surrounded in a fog of patchouli, sweat, and plenty of Mother Nature's finest.

Good times just like the old times.

But what struck me most, and has lingered the longest of the events of yesterday happened after the party.

Following the festivities, I donned my iPod, cranked up a U2 playlist ("Haven't seen you in quite a while / I was down the hold, just passing time") and trekked back to the bus stop on the edge of The University. Ain't nothing like riding the city bus on a Saturday night. I'm generally not the only passenger avoiding a DWI.

I checked the schedule and sat down on a low wall to wait. . . only about 15 - 20 minutes.

There was a homeless fella sittin' there, I mean I presumed from his dissheveled and dirty appearance that it was a homeless fella, but hey, I'm not judgemental or nuthin'.

Hey man, are you waitin' for the bus?
What?
Are you waitin' for the bus?
Oh, yeah. It should be along pretty soon.
Not me. I'm just hangin' out.
You're just hangin' out.
Yep. Saturday night and I'm just hangin' out. I'm not waitin' on a bus or nothin'.
Well, that's cool man.
Just hangin out. . .

He proceeded to tell me his version of the hard luck story that brought him here. His speech was animated although his demeanor calm, relaxed, sleepy. His fractured and incongruous thinking told me he'd been out there for quite a while. He was punch drunk from life if not literally so from liquor. We talked music and shared tales of our favorite bands. He saw the Stones play at the Detroit Lions old domed stadium in 1977. Cool. He was hopeful that he would get up early enough in the morning so that he could catch a bus to go to where he could use a phone. He was going to call his friend so that his friend could pick him up and take him to church. That is, if he could just get up early enough. He had a problem with getting up early enough.

For all the world he reminded me of a dog that's been beat.

My bus pulled up. I wished him well as I handed him my last three dollars and a handful of cigarettes.

To my new friend, fifty-one year old homeless Greg from Ann Arbor, Michigan. . .

I hope you made it to church on time.
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