a brutal bust on the corner outside my office, right here downtown, drew a crowd that blocked the intersection crosswalk, the cops both white, the street guy, face down his hands cuffed behind his back, turning militant, he denies swallowing something, the crowd is all black part the folks who always hang out outside this walgreen's, part downtown workers, and they all feel some instinctive sympathy with the man down. somehow the aggressiveness in the paramilitary state authority minds me of our sleepwalk to the brink of never-surgical bombing.

x

up or down said the merchant's garage booth man, pushing the ticket for me. not "up or down?" the elevator man's query but a matter-of-fact report on where spaces for my car are still available, up on the rooftop and down in the basement. (i used to covet the first floor spot nearest the catty-corner to my block now i park furthest, relish the scratch exercise.) when the amiable older babyman who usually sits there tells me problem is he says either "up or down" or "up on top" but either way he nods his head grins like a blithering idiot and mouths "op-oo-dop."

Note to self: don't ignore me!