I ride the bus a lot. (I took 7 buses last Friday.) Apparently there's a secret club for disabled and injured people, and the bus is our meeting place. I don't think I've had a bus ride this month without someone telling me about their owies. My cast and cane make the people in my new club think I want to chat with them, even though I am clearly trying to read a textbook. One of today's club members fell down the stairs when he was drunk and broke his neck a few years ago. He had to wear one of those weird halo things they screw into their skull. He talked to me about that for twenty minutes, and then pulled off his hat to show me all the screw holes in his head. Pardon my garden. That was gross.
There's a guy I see around town now and then who has a fake leg. He always looks drunk and a little scary, and I've seen him pick up cigarette butts from the curb and smoke them. He's dapper. Anyway, he has never acknowledged my existence before. Today when I hobbled by him, he gave me a huge smile and said hi to me as though we're best friends. He's in my club too.
There was a young guy on the bus with a broken foot the other day. When I got on, I sat across from him in the gimp section. I asked him if he wanted to be in my club. He didn't say anything, but the old lady who was sitting near us thought I was damned funny. I thought so too.