I remember thinking that maybe that's how the real hell works - an unbearable stretch of torment and misery which is really nothing more then a Purgatory of sorts, intended only to lull you into thinking that it's not so bad after all and that you might actually be able to survive it... before satan opens the door and you get kicked in the face with the REAL hell.
It's not the"stuff" we gain or lose, nor the people that come and go throughout our lives, that define who we are as human beings. It is the person we allow ourselves to become, as the chapters open and close, that says everything about who we really are and what we are really made of.
The waiting area at the bus stop was empty when I got there, and I had about 15 minutes to wait before the number 10 outbound would arrive. Like always, I tucked my cane and backpack under the shelter and settled in to watch the shitshow that was taking place about 30 ft straight in front of me. I had a flashback to my childhood and all of those Sunday nights that I spent watching "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom." I laughed out loud a little at how much this feeding frenzy reminded me of all those images I saw of buzzards fighting for a spot on a carcass. Watching those seagulls made me feel bad, all over again, for that poor water buffalo that had had the great misfortune of being at the back of the line when the stampede of fear kicked off.