One half hour

Today, as I changed over from the BART to the Muni at Civic Center, I put my headphones on and pressed play. The Allman Brothers Band began their live version of the Mountain Jam, 33 minutes and 41 seconds of instrumental jamming recorded at the Fillmore East in February, 1970.
I stood on the platform waiting for the N-Judah to roll into the station, and was quickly joined by quite the character. I had seen him before on the train, and it's hard to miss him. This guy is super tall with long blond hair but the most striking thing is that he wears protective shields all over his body, and a long green cape. The shields, from knee caps to shoulder pads to elbow protectors make him look big and muscled, and the combination with a cape makes him look like a warrior from outer space. I may have been influenced by watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy yesterday but in stead of being put off by what most people would think of as a complete nut, I felt drawn to his appearance. Subtly, without trying to catch his eye, I tried to read what the tattoo on his left cheek said. As a train arrived, I thought I heard it was the K, and the warrior boarded it. As he turned around he looked me right in the eye, gave me a faint smile. The tattoo read 'VERITAS' and I noticed a crucifix drawn above his right eyebrow.
It took me a minute to realize that it was actually my train that he had gotten on. The next one would be twenty minutes.
I continued waiting, and listening to the guitar and organ and drum solos in my ear. Small thoughts crossed my mind, like how I felt my jeans slowly creeping south and that I really need to buy a belt. Or what time the Obama inauguration might start tomorrow. Or what the concert hall looked like at that specific concert in February 1970. As the jam continued I drew deeper into the sounds, but I kept being disturbed by a homeless guy asking me for money for food (I had none). You know how when you stand around for a long time they just keep asking you, probably because their memory is nonexistent or they think maybe you'll change your mind or I don't know what it is. There are many many many homeless and drug addicted people in this city and even my big headphones are no way of stopping them continuously asking me for a cigarette or money. If they keep it up they may be responsible for me smoking a lot less, seeing how the street is the only place where you are allowed to smoke and I get really tired blowing people off all the damn time. Anyway, the poor guy was coughing his lungs out and I started thinking he may have really been asking for money for food. It's a good thing I had so much time on the platform. All of a sudden I remembered. In my bag was almost an entire hamburger. I ordered it in Berkeley with a friend but it was so greasy I couldn't even eat a quarter of it. Somehow they convinced me to bring it in a doggy bag, even though I knew I probably would put it in the fridge until I would have to throw it out a few days later. This time it was me who approached the man and carefully handed him the hamburger. He was really happy, and held it in his hand as he boarded his train. I hope he likes sauteed mushrooms and artichoke on his burgers.
I was home thirty minutes later than I could have been. It was another sunny day in California and tomorrow we welcome a new day. I am in no rush.