When I picked the Whiteaker it was a random choice. I never intended it to mean so much. It is funny, but I have ridden the bus there quite a few times by myself. Going with the group is always more convenient an more comfortable, but riding the bus makes the adventure so much more edgy.
Not that the bus is always sketchy, but most of the time riding it to the Whiteaker is. There are a few characters that I met in the Whiteaker that I failed to mention over my blog posts the past few weeks. First, I met Charlie. He was a homeless man that kept wanting to talk to me. He was mentally challenged and I will admit that his aggressive movement sent me fleeing to the other side of the street. He responded by shouting at me,” Why does everyone try to leave me.” It was very sad.
I also met two russian women on a Sunday afternoon waiting for the bus near the Tiny Tavern, The women were speaking in a language that I could not understand and their kind smiles kept me looking toward them. Finally, one woman asked me if I spoke Russian. I smiled and told her that I did not. When I asked her if she lived in the neighborhood, she told me that she just attended church there. She pointed to the Eastern Orthodox Church down the street. I told her that I had interviewed a priest there and she invited me to go to church with the next weekend. She assured me that I would enjoy it, and that she would help me understand anything that I was a little mixed up about.
I met spoonmakers, nomads and a girl who looked like Yoko Ono. This term has been an adventure for me in Journalism and the Whiteaker has been the main reason for that.
