Live and let live at CAV

Okay, never pose a question like that around a sarcastic bastard. My brain automatically went there, to that dark place, into that ebon eve of moribundity with her name on the tombstone. No! I could not allow it to happen. Let this woman detect whatever she wants on her palate; let her find joy in whatever she brings to her lips; let her travel on a padded gurney to Bellevue with Twizzlers on her breath! Live and let live! Yes we can! Yes we did! Obama! Obama!

Feeling rather magnanimous, I gathered up my books, put on my coat, and sauntered outside with a spring in my step. I took the last remaining seat on the bus, next to a homeless woman who was talking to herself. She pulled up her stuff and motioned for me to sit down, apologizing kindly for taking it up. She smelled terrible. I can see the folly in wine tasters and people in heavy metal parking lots, but I have never turned a cynical eye to the truly destitute. She started talking about Barack Obama and how things were going to be different now. She was really up on the issues and brought up the stimulus package, and we both shared in the hope. She had a weathered face, but I could tell she had been cute at one point in her life. She told me she had bladder cancer, and that she'd just come back from the doctor. I said I was really sorry to hear that. Just then I started to feel something warm on my right thigh. It could only be one thing. She got off at the next stop, leaving a puddle of urine in the seat and on me.

There's a metaphor here, I told myself. I am supposed to take something from this day, and I think it's humility.