A homeless woman grabs my arm, either an attempt to be nice, or to keep from falling over with bottle in hand, as she walks with me towards the post office, and I tell her over and over, that the bus station is up on the right.
The man at the post office tells me that they are laying people off and cutting hours when I ask him what's up with the future of the building. He looks at me and says, "I like to see a supervisor come in here and do this..." We both laugh.
The man who interrupts me listening to music, walks with me to the library. He goes on to tell me that he has just gotten out of jail. I tell him that I had court today.
Someone at work asks me if I want to eat with the other workers in the break room. I appreciate the gesture, but I opt to stay in the room and use the internet.
A friend I have not seen in a while is at the grocery store, working. I tell him I am on my lunch break. I ask him if there are any ripe mangos. He says only the organic ones. I tell him that I don't want to pay $4, he simply takes the organic sticker off. "Good looking out..."
The streets become more familiar. The people at the liquor store, the barber shop, and the gas station by my house, more familiar. The walls become more covered in stickers, posters, and graffiti. Flyers are in the windows, and our magazines are in the stores. More and more, this place is ours.