An odd nighttime occurrence.

Like a month ago I was up late reading on a Saturday night (Sunday morning?), with just my little nightstand lamp on in my bedroom, and all of a sudden at like around 3am someone starts ringing the doorbell a number of times, and there's knocks on the door.

I didn't know what the fuck was up, so I didn't move or go to answer, and then it stopped, and then it happened again, and then that happened like two or three more times.

I was wondering if someone did that for the upstairs apartment, too, but I couldn't tell, and it sounded like no-one up there was getting up even if that was happening, since I couldn't hear anyone walking around like I usually can.

I didn't even want to go to the door and peek out, since I had no idea what the f*ck was going on.

Someone upstairs had come home late and thump-y, so maybe it was a drunk friend going to their place and getting confused?

I honestly have no idea.

I felt so alone, in the city.

A (later middle aged) (white) woman on the subway.

The other week I was sitting on the subway going into work, and a (later middle aged) (white) woman with (frizzy) (brown) hair and (crazy) eyes and who's in a light tan fringed leather jacket gets on on crutches and hobbles over and sits down next to me, and as she sits down a crutch of hers swings out and whacks me.

"Sorry I assaulted you!" she was like, a little too brightly.

After a while, every now and then she would cough loudly into her hand, and her fingers were a bit apart so it was almost like the germs could fly right through and out into the car.

Later, a man got on and sat down to my left and opposite her, and he had these (bright blue) shoes on.

"Oh your shoes!", she cried out loudly to the guy, and mumbled something about how much she likes them and how her friend has a pair just like them and would love them.

Later again, she began looking up and diagonally and a bit back, towards the ceiling of the car and a bit out the window, and her eyes looked like they were tearing up.

. . .

A dream of my campaign.

The other week I dreamnt -

I'm putting stamps on blank envelopes and I run out of the stamps with American flags on them, and I pull out some new sheets of stamps, and they each have a balloon-y like cartoonish hamburger on them, and I begin taking them off one by one and putting them onto the envelopes.

And then, I wake up.

. . .

(That day some volunteers had been putting American flag stamps on blank envelopes, and I had to run out and get some more stamps, and I got some stamps with Santas on them left over from Christmas.)

A man on the subway.

The other week on my way into work, a(n older) (black) man was sitting across from me and a little to the right, and he had a walker in front of him.

After a while, the train took a turn or something, and the walker started rolling forward a bit and tipping over some, so I leaned forward and reached out and steadied it, and then I pushed it back a little and returned it to its place.

"Thank you," he was like.

"No problem, sir," I was like.

Later, a(n old) (short) (gray haired) (white) woman came on the train with a mini walker, the kind with four big wheels and brakes and a sloping forward look rather than the taller boxy look, and she sat down for a while, and then leapt up at one stop when the doors were open and about to close, since she must have zoned out and not realized that she was at her stop already.

Usually I see no walkers at all, and then I see two walkers in one day.  How odd.

A person who I met in a bar that same night.

That same night after the labor event, I popped into one bar on the way home, to put in facetime at local bars, and I started doing a kind of a crossword puzzle a bit at the one local bar I stopped into.

And, after a bit, a(n older) (gray curly haired) (slimmer) (white) lady in an understated but stylish coat came up and asked me what kind of puzzle I was working on, and if I had any weed I could sell her.

So, we started talking a bit, and it turns out that she was from a part of the city that was historically Greek but is now black, and she was one of the last kids who'd commute in and still go to the high school there, but now she lives north of the city, and she's an architect.

And, she told me that she did public planning and is now working on designs for a group home, and that she can work at the large scale or in the small scale, but the in between makes her very unhappy.

She also said that her niece had wanted to go out and bond with her and they went to this one club where all the Greek kids were, and they were all like 25, and she tried to dance a bit, but she saw this one girl who was super thin down down down her sides and then her hips flared out, and she thought to herself, "I used to look like that," and she decided she had to leave.

So, I told her that that was like sections of the climactic scene of Visconti's "The Leopard," which I had seen on the big screen a few weeks before.

I also encouraged her to read the book, which a(n Italian) acquaintance had recommended years ago, and which I guess is the one book all Italians read in high school, and which I read and really really enjoyed, and it's short, to boot.

"The book!", she was like.

Then, she told me that she had spent a lot of time in Italy, and one time she was living in Naples and seeing this one guy, then she broke it off and fled to 'a small volcanic island off of Sicily,' and he followed there and cried and apologized, and he gave her a copy of 'the book' that he had inscribed to her, and as she said "the book," she held out her two hands in front of her like she was presenting an offering to a pagan statue or something.

"And I was just looking at it two weeks ago," she was like, shaking her head.

I then started talking about other good books I had read lately or during my life, and she took out her notebook to take down titles, including "Heaven's Harlots," which is my favorite book ever, and which I often buy for people who I randomly meet in bars and start telling them about it.

"It's the memoir of a woman who was a sacred prostitute...", I began.

"That's so funny," the woman was like.  "Years ago, I remember walking into a bar, and out of nowhere, I thought to myself, 'I want to fuck God.'

"And," she was like, "I start dancing with this guy, and his name is Theo!".

Then, she added, "'Theo' means 'god' in Greek."

She then explained that they danced all night, but nothing ever happened, so she left.

When she finished it, I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to get from her story.

Conversation with another assisted living aide.

The other week at a labor event I met this cool (younger) (black) woman who works in assisted living and who has been active in labor drives around it.

She said she used to work as a journalist, but she came home to take care of her sister, once her sister got sick and needed help.

We started talking about how assisted living services can help people remain independent and keep up quality of life and keep them out of for-profit homes, too, which are typically worse for the person and more expensive to boot than home care, at certain levels.

"A friend of mine had a family member in a home," she was like. "Her bed sore on her back got so bad, you could stick your fist in it, and see some of the ribs."

She also said that she recently was at another event and the governor elect was there, so she went up to him to bring up state assisted living programs, and remind him of their importance and his pledge to maintain and expand them.

People on the subway: Two people in the same place.

The other week I was going in to work on the subway, and like a stop or two later a(n older) (grizzled) (black) man in like a tan coat and pants gets on with a couple of shopping bags, and he sits in the seat opposite me and puts a paper cup down on the floor to his left, and then he goes into his one white plastic shopping bag that he has with him and he pulls out a foil pack that he unwraps and eats from, and as he eats, a few times he leans over and puts a few aluminum foil peelings that he had torn off from the packet into the paper cup, and as he eats, too, what's in the foil packet gets gradually revealed, and it's a big cheeseburger.

He also smacks a bit after every bite, as he's chewing.

A few stops later, he gets off.

Like on the other side of the city after that, a (more cleanly dressed) (somewhat younger) (black) man sits down in the same seat and pretty much the same posture as the other guy, and he stares out the window.

Every once in a while, too, he loudly taps his fingers on the subway car window sill, as he looks out it and thinks.