November 6, 2023:
Trolley bro. Jacked, white, manic in wraparound shades. Asks for money for a shirt: "I have a new job..."
I ask, "What meds are you taking for the depression?" He laughs. Instead he shares a long lecture on prison highs. My favorite: locked-down boys mash Wellbutrin into water and snort it. "It'll fuck you up," he says. I believe him.
All ears: passengers rapt in attention. Stooped gray-haired man who got on at UC Med. Heavy black lady in elaborate powered wheelchair. Man with three young children. On edge. All wondering if trolley bro will snap. He could snap me, easily. They all want me to stop him talking. But I like him. Meds and restraining orders and the struggle to put one foot before the next. We have more in common than merely trolley rides.
At the station on the siding he fares me well. I wish him luck. In hindsight I wish I'd hugged him goodbye.