Democracy

Some evening in late October, 2008. Metro bus #4, heading west along Santa Monica Blvd.

Two giggly teenagers got on the bus with me at Santa Monica and Crescent Heights, in West Hollywood. They were heading for Fairfax, they mentioned; not only were they just a few short blocks away from Fairfax, but they were now going the wrong way. I pointed this out to them, as did the short white/Latina woman sitting in the seat in front of me. We both directed them to get off at the next stop and walk back to Fairfax. After making sure we were serious, they did. The woman and I now had a conversational link established between us; we smiled at each other as the confused young women got off the bus.

Years ago, she used to be a dancer at the Whisky-a-Go-Go up on the Sunset Strip. Then she was in a car accident and broke both her legs--and so she started drinking too much. She couldn't dance anymore, of course, with the legs and the booze. She slept in a park in Beverly Hills for a while--that one on the right there.

We talked about the election; she hadn't voted since helping to elect Bill Clinton. I don't know if she meant 1992 or 1996. She sure loved Bill Clinton, but she didn't know anything about politics since him. I told her that he would want her to vote for Barack Obama, and showed her where to go to register to vote--the Democratic Party office in Century City, in that building on the left just now.

At Santa Monica and Westwood, I said goodbye and got off the bus. She told me she'd try to register the next day, but I don't think she meant it. She waved as the bus drove off.