The murals on Bus Way.

Driving makes me grumpy and angry and I don't enjoy the seemingly involuntary conversations that I have with the cars around me. As the person in front of me purposely sped up to insure that the car next to her (who had his blinker on for about 2 minutes) would not be able to get in, I decided that I was done. Now, I take the bus.

Orange flags, trains, graffiti, wall art, and homeless people fill the streets. I am surrounded by concrete. A red, glittery cross shines from the top of a building. I am ashamed at how the homeless have become a part of the street. I almost do not notice them. The bus merges onto I-5 and I sink into my seat.

I begin to think of what it would be like to be homeless. I picture myself wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, standing on a corner showcasing the typical sign: "Homeless. Jobless. Anything will help. God bless you." I imagine the response. I picture the scowls on people's faces. I see their eyes frantically searching their cars trying to avoid looking at me. I've heard the comments my whole life. I know the public opinion about my condition.

"Next stop, Tacoma Dome Station." I stand, I leave, I go to work. I have a conversation with my coworkers. I am told that there are people in this state who have bought guns to hide in their houses because they fear that those who have lost their jobs in this sinking economy will desperately raid homes and hurt families. 

Can I repeat that again?

There are people in this state who have bought guns to hide in their houses because they fear that those who have lost their jobs in this sinking economy will desperately raid homes and hurt families.

Back on my couch at home, I ignore the alien documentary and pour out to Peter. When I'm finished, I no longer know what to say. 

I have a wonderful life. I have a family and friends who love me. I know they would all take me in if I had no place to go. They would feed me and clothe me. I will never become an overlooked part of the street.

But what about that man on the corner? I see him everyday. Every single day he stands there in the cold while we drive by trying to ignore him.

On the south side of town, behind the people sleeping under blankets and tents is a mural. It covers the whole side of the building, and the colors immediately attract my eye. The whole street, though very harsh and industrial, is filled with these murals. They cover each building, and they are beautiful. A comic, a plea to promote recycling, a woman's face. Because the road is only open to buses, the only people who have the time to examine these paintings are those waiting for the bus and the homeless.

I am uplifted. The colors and the shapes blanket those underneath. We have given them something real to hold on to. And that makes me smile.