Skateboarding through Southside the other night,
searching for zen amongst sidewalk gaps and cracks,
a young PAT bus driver enjoying a smoke break outside Ghetto Bird
interrupted my crowded solitary endeavor with a question and a compliment.
"Nice Manual" he said between puffs and small talk.
A few minutes later, a few thousand rotations
of urethane through the gritty grime of city streets and sides
and I found myself cruising a parking lot
yanked to reality
by a woman of questionable integrity
"Can you read this?"
My cynicism said "scam" until I saw the paper
a phone number scrawled.
I read the number.
She inserted two quarters into the pay phone
which seemed written into my evening
dialed the number
said
"Thank you so much, hon. You're great at Skateboarding, by the way."
I smiled and skated off.
She smiled and ordered drugs.
My push was a little lighter on the way home
having given and gotten something
from the bus driver
the drifter
and the city.
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