This morning I woke up on a pull-out couch. Lost and Found. Get dressed, grab my bag and bike, and head out the door of a new apartment building. Guys in suits with newspapers. Buy breakfast at Noah’s authentically fake-thentic new york bagel repository. Bitter, overhot coffee.
Disembodied BART announcement: people who eat inside the station are unruly, misbehaving tramps, deserving of fines for their rude and brutish disposition. I graze covertly, surprised that the bageleggancheese has so much flavor. Fennel, pepper, salt, poppyseeds and garlic turn microwaved eggs palatable.
Dublin-Pleasanton Train, 8 Cars Board Center. Room for the bike, sitting next to an empty seat that begs me to set my prematurely stale coffee down onits flat-not-quite-stable surface. I am no fool! The liquid, clutched by my left hand, pours rapid-fire into my mouth, in cautious, wincing spurts as the train roars sourly through the Transbay Tube.
West Oakland / Lake Merritt / Fruitvalegrabmybag, down the stairs, fare gate, stradle the bike, play tag with International Blvds potholes, lock up the bike. Centro Legal de la Raza opens wide, and as I wave to Esmerelda, Patty says there’s no one else working today.
“¿Francisca Rodriguez? Mucho gusto, soy un estudiante–trabajo bajo la supervision de abogados. Por favor, sientese y describame el problema.”
