...on deeds

...and their own rewards

i was heading home tonight after a little dinner and an episode of dirt when the rain hit. the bastard takes the long road home. i could take the 6 train and transfer at 53rd but i don't want to wait 45 minutes to transfer. i'd rather walk the extra 3 or more blocks and take a train that'll take me straight home. it's karaoke night, so i won't get to sleep at a reasonable hour anyway.

on my way across i run into this frail old russian woman who asks me in her broken english "Q train? Q train?"

now the Q doesn't stop at 23rd. and i don't speak russian. but this lady looked stranded. so i walked her to the r train staion at 23rd and 6th and gave her the best directions i could give her to get to the q train. she hands me a crumpled up fiver. i tell her. "nyet" which is "no" (ok the bastard speaks one or two words. ok four words, "yes, no, thank you, and good bye"). anyway i'm shaking my hands and telling her "no". i don't need the money and i didn't help her out because i did. it was just the right thing to do. besides, the good deed is it's own reward. she wouldn't take her money back and as quick as you could say "dosvidanya", she was gone.

i felt good helping someone out and felt odd that i couldn't find a homeless person at this hour to pawn off the fiver to. so i decided that the boy can have it tomorrow when i get to arizona. yup, the bastard is heading out into the western desert to see his little boy. it should be good.

got home, the karoke had stopped and here i am typing away till the hour i would have gone to sleep anyway if i had been home for the screaming caterwauls of middle aged jackasses singing badly next door. maybe that is my reward. good night, jerks.

—the bastard