In Which I Go Astray.

After last night's writing meet-up downtown (at which I wrote a stunning total of 186 words), I hopped the next MAX train east as usual. A couple of teenage boys sat down near me, and I began listening to their conversation, which was lively, humorous, and wide-ranging. I couldn't pick up everything they said, but I do recall that one of them was complaining about how Li'l Jon's crunk was disrespectful to women. "What kinda girl want that?" he kept saying.

A couple of stops later, a ragged, unshaven middle-aged man got on, smelling strongly of booze and cigarettes. He listened for a little while, then began talking with the boys. The subject was local high school sports teams. Despite obvious differences in age, race, income level, and sobriety, the conversation was respectful and warmly friendly. Before long, others sitting around began to throw in their two cents. In my limited MAX experience, this was unusual; generally everybody just seems to want to be left alone.

At some point my attention was drawn to a sign outside the window: Albina/Mississippi. Waaaait a second... isn't that in NoPo? Part of my brain had been tallying up things that weren't quite "right" about the ride all along, and now it reminded me none too gently that I was on a "Yellow Line MAX" and that I didn't actually know what that meant. Now you're outside Fareless Square with no ticket, already well into a strange neighborhood with a shady reputation, and it's late and you're so tired that you're stupid and you may be in danger once you get off the train and what are you going to do whatareyougoingtodo?!?

The other part of my brain said, Ooh. I'm having an Adventure!

I got off at Prescott, and there was a train going the opposite way right there waiting for me. As I sat down, still smiling at my own mistake, the disheveled man opposite me smiled back and waved. I nodded, wondering if he was the source of that awful smell, and began to study the diagram of MAX routes on the wall. If only there had been one of these on the last train, I thought. Well, if I get off at the Rose Quarter, I should be able to get on the Red Line, or the Blue Line. Either one will take me back to my car.

"You okay?" asked my neighbor. His shaggy hair curled out from beneath an old baseball cap, and he had a blanket over his lap.

"Yep," I said. "I'm okay." I gave him the thumbs-up.

He grinned, showing his yellow teeth and the gaps between them. "Me too," he said, and launched into a mumbled narrative involving getting shot in the back of the head at a Rolling Stones concert, and surviving a really nasty car crash. I could only make out about 2/3 of what he was saying, but I tried to make the right noises at the right times. "I know it must be God lookin' out for me 'cause ain't no other way I could still be here," he said.

I told him I hoped God would keep it up, and then I switched trains. Back on the right route this time, I heaved a sigh of relief and looked around me.

Everyone in the car was clean and tastefully dressed. Everyone was white. They were all sitting very quietly, as far as possible from one another, carefully avoiding eye contact. No one was smiling.