Friday, September 03, 2004
I love school more and more each day. David Sedaris is in my English book, and we read the story of the French Class today.
This morning when I got to spot where I wait for the Elysian Fields, I wondered why everyone was standing around the bench and not actually sitting on it. I briefly contemplated that perhaps someone had urinated on it or something along those lines, but then decided I was too tired to care, so after looking it over to try and avoid the wet spot that may or may not be there, I sat down. Big mistake. Out of nowhere this homeless man shoots out of the crowd and sits by me. He begins talking, I assumed, to himself but then calls for my attention. It was from that point, until seemingly the end of time, I was talked at incessantly by... Sir Cat. I know it is written out like that because he showed me the jailhouse-esque tattoo of it on his forearm. He told me countless intersecting stories that I faded in and out of attentiveness toward (as it was 6:45 in the morning, and he was, I am pretty sure, insane) . Each story was basically endless because not only did they spur substories, but included the date and address at which any item in the story was purchased by him. e.g. :
" He stole my radio, I bought that radio for five dollars over at the thrift store on West Jeff and Washington... "
Picture these anecdotes in abundant tirades, and that was the gist of my morning. When he was FINALLY finished with a story he began pointing at things in our immediate vicinity in plain sight and describing them in extensive detail until another story was spawned from the discourse. I sat clutching the bus stop bench for dear life and praying for any end to this, the single most lengthy uncomfortable moment of my life. But when it was over and the bus arrived, I still felt the need to say goodbye to him, as though we were friends and I had enjoyed his company. I really need a car.
