Walk to work like I always do.
As I was getting ready to leave work, a co-worker (suprised that I was walking downtown at that hour) asked if I was armed.
It never occurred to me that walking home might be dangerous.
Maybe I should get some mace.
Once home, I decided I was too riled-up to sleep so I went out dancing for an hour.
Friday, 2:00 am
Finished last messy bite of bean, rice & cheese burrito from the taco stand next to Club Hedonism.
Home and in front of my computer. I see that there is an error on the main page of my work's website. It's my responsibility and I know how to fix it, but I'd have to go down to the office. No problem! I'm still not entirely sober...the music is still ringing in my ears...I'll just walk downtown and fix it before anyone notices.
Homeless guy starts screaming gibberish at me while I approach the office. I am definitely wishing I was armed.
I give up and realize that I will be unable to get in the locked building. So I slump down against the door in hopes that the guard will see me as soon as he comes in.
Every noise or rustle of the wind makes me jerk up in anticipation of having a crazed homeless person kick me in the head to steal my jacket. I am cold. The ground is hard. And I am a very white suburban kid.
The security guard banged on the glass door and told me to move along. I stumbled from my huddled mass on the ground and yelled through the glass, "I work here."
He looked me up and down. I was wearing a beanie. Crumpled pants. A women's fur jacket. Homeless chic for sure.
He just stared at me. But his eyes screamed, "Gimmie a break, buddy." I fumbled for my wallet and showed him my business card.
Site is fixed.
I fall restlessly asleep in a lumpy beanbag.
Office starts filling with voices.
Back to work. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.
Head home from work (splurging for a cab this time).