Bustop near the trainstation had been redesigned - bet that came to 20 or 30k.

Thing is, there was nothing wrong with it, to begin with.  Before the money was blown, the shelter seated about twenty people upon roomy high-backed benches; they were ergonomic, before that word became fashionable.  

So there he was, just got off the train, but the bus won't be coming for close to another hour.  Sure, he thought of passing some time at a coffee bar...good luck with that; ever since people had decided they'd rather stay in their jimmy-jams, monday through friday...  Even question whether stuff is really getting done, uhm, that could set off some knashing of teeth, but i digress.  Our somewhat travel weary sojourner isn't from the area, and certainly does not want to miss bus #390.  

But surprise, surprise.  The long backed benches have been replaced with, maybe fifteen, dinky backless little squares to perch upon.  Yeah, heaven forbid, a person, in a barely familiar city, could relax a bit on a REAL bench, while waiting for the bus.  And by the way, doesn't Scripture speak of not oppressing the sojourner - ya know, the middle-aged dude with back trouble?

Oh, i wouldn't be surprised, if that purple-haired loudmouth had seen her mother - or maybe, a beloved aunt - get pushed around.

The gal had wanted NOTHING to do with anything feminine; twenty years later, still wanting to mock and scoff, at the very idea, of even so much as donning a sundress - let alone, something a little more semi-formal, for a wedding, or an off-site office reception.  Having had put in several hours of coursework - for a real curriculum, that will lead to real money - the later-twenties gal donned her sneaks and went for a brief run.  

She passed a house that, although the yard was kept neat - low hanging branches trimmed - the place obviously needed work; probably more than what the owner could afford.  But whomever lived there, was atleast trying.  A length of PVC pipe, serving as a makeshift downspout - held in place by ... she wasn't really sure, because whatever was securing it, was obscured by a flower bed.  Anyway, the arrangement set off a trigger.  Where she came from, there were no flower beds.  Just junk scattered here and there in a yard of crabgrass, thorns, broken glass and mud.  She had to have been around six or seven, when, one evening, around sunset, her mom said something to her about rain, while trying to jimmy-rig together two short lengths of crinkled spouting - which were really two short to do much good; the set up went barely two feet from the house, when four is suitable.  

"DONT EFF WITH THAT!"  Came that all too familiar bark from the house; where from inside, emitted from a dingy window, a hazy blue light, accompanied by a game show tune - or had it been a news program?  Whatever...same difference.  Additionally, from inside one of the torn screens, came that vile smell; she even recalled - from atleast one of the quarrels, $65 - about what a quarter of an ounce had been selling for.  Whatever the amount, it was going for presently, like then, it resulted in basements getting wet and dank, because  ... well, because rain happens.  

Already having gone about two miles, the clouds in the east were darkening; she'd be finishing up in the downpour.  But that wasn't a problem.  In fact, there was something about rain, and wind ... she liked running in the weather, even coming in all wet and chill.  Perhaps, a reaction to her earlier years, hearing that same old blasphemous bark about rain in the forecast.   She'd never been religious, but dragging God into things that weren't his fault?   "But the farmers like..." the innocent little observation had gotten her a swollen lip.   

About a half mile outside of her property, the rain came in sheets; her gym pants and sweatshirt took on a modest lake's worth.  Ahead, a section of road had turned into a creek.  She ran to, and jumped into the deepest part, stirring up leaves, gravel - and litter...which probably was clogging up the drain pipe, which the township had out in a few years ago - shortly after she'd bought her house.  Wow, must be a whole foot!  Down the road a bit, another creek.

She was six or seven again.  But this time, she'd come in out of the rain to a neat, peaceful house.   Well, then again, not completely peaceful :)  There was a bit of barking that went on - from Pepper, her dog.

"I went by the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard, of the man void of understanding; and, lo, it was all grown over with thorns, and nettles had covered the face thereof, and the stone wall thereof was broken down."

Proverbs 24:30-31

Floyd could feel the cold creeping up through the metal floor to between the two boards beneath his boots, as he spooned a scoop

of chili from the crockpot - that sat on the stove - into a ceramic bowl; the man didn't do plastic.  Neither did he do the stove; didn't quite trust the wiring in that corner of the place - nor did he trust the light switch in the bathroom.  It sometimes threw sparks - so he had run an extension from the bedroom to a small lamp which sat upon the counter "space" beside the bathroom sink.  Floyd wasn't complaining.  The tin can - with the stove-front sag in the floor -  was close to where he worked, and for $600 a month, he managed to have atleast a $20 or three left over from previous paychecks.  

Being within two or three miles from the grocery store, sometimes he walked to and from work, but with november coming on, he'd be putting gas in his car more often.  On paper, the store wasn't much for fringe benefits, but working there kept him in things like oranges, plums, taters - though a tad past their prime - day-or-two old bread, dented cans of carrots and green beans.  In short, he ate healthy - for a fraction.  Unlike, the several weeks of take-outs in his car.  

He placed the bowl upon a plate and took it over to the linoleum table - it looked like a relic from an early 1980s yard sale, but no complaints.  The place, dingy as it was, was better, by far, than living in other people's space, under their petty-ars'd rules - wasn't like he was sloppy, loud, or generally obnoxious.  Reaching into the drawer, he pulled out a spoon for the soup, and one for the applesauce.  From a napkin holder, sitting on the counter, he grabbed a faded green cloth napkin, and laid it on his lap.

This is how floyd had been raised; his daddy, being a long distance trucker, family meals were special.  And yeah, his mom grew up in england.  He put down his phone and took a taste.  Neither was it a boast, on his part, concerning the chili; it was THAT good - and so was his vegetable beef stew.  Had the oven been trustworthy, he'd a baked some bread - but such would have to wait for better lodging.  Scrolling through his email, he came across a link to a video on how to fix a ...

"MY HOUSE, MY RULES!"

Oh brother, who th' ... was she kidding!  The place, just like every other in the court,  belonged to the landlord.  From within the neighboring tin, two voices quarreled, waxing shrill.  Poor people... floyd raised his eyebrows, ignoring the stompings and cursings.  Dave Ramsey was so right, when he said something about state of mind.   A car door slammed shut, followed by a somewhat choking roar of a car engine - one that sounded of wanting two quarts of oil; the dufus, would be the first to throw a fit - blaming anyone from the newsboy to the illuminati - when the car decided to quit.  

Uh, bruh!  Floyd needed to get over to wally-world for a set of real curtains; the ones hanging on the window, next to the table, weren't getting it.  What was it with obese women and shorts?  At this time of year?  The woman, flipped the departed vehicle another hand signal, bellowed out a phrase or two, then stormed back the walkway to "her house."  In all fairness, however - along with her need to lose a few tons, she needed, even more, to gain a few brain cells, and throw the bum out.

Strange, how red-pills remain silent about the basic facts of wine making. In short, anyone with half a brain

knows, a young vine, only minimally tended, isn't likely to produce quality grapes.  Then there's the vat, bottling and storage processes.  Was reading somewhere, that, in the old days, it was common for wine - even from tended vines and decent soil, to not turn out as carefully planned.  Just a bit too much air getting through, can turn the aging liquid from sweet and mild to vinegary and ... well, bitter.   Fortunately, these days, with the better technology, about anyone, with a half decent job, can afford a bottle of wine that won't make their patio-party friends want to cry  for mercy.  Anyway, the lady who was podcasting concerning 40ish men, mentioned that not all wines age well.

She described the usual occurrence.  We'll call him floyd.  He wasn't into college - can't really blame him for not wanting saddled with $80-some-k, before he's even old enough to buy cigarettes.  Anyway, floyd is late-20s-something, works out at the gym, has a cool job, where the hot chicks are looking his way.  He's even met reasonably famous models - had a fling here and there.  Unfortunately, floyd likes the booze, the drugs, the late hours; it's beginning to show, but not a problem ... for now.

Some twelve years later:

Floyd's on the phone; been calling for the past hour or so ... as if the man has nothing better to do.  Twice, he got a response, got put on hold - maybe, this time, the call won't drop.  For some reason, the website isn't taking his unemployment data.  Everything's [bleeping] internet, wave a th' future, my ... floyd mutters, while the automated voice makes another round, about how "your call is important...please hold..." blada, blada.

As an aside, can't - for two milliseconds - blame him for being frustrated, and getting madder by the minute... anything a caller needs - be it an auto part, a medical appointment, a general question concerning a subscription... bruh!   Tell me, the entire process isn't intentional.  But i digress, back to floyd.

His issue matters.  The funds hadn't yet been deposited into his account.   He's down to $130 and change, his tank 3/4ths empty.  And he hasn't had anything to eat since breakfast - if a slice of two-day old pizza qualifies.  Most of what little he owns, is in the back - some of which, he moved to the trunk ... hopefully, it won't rain too hard (he hasn't been able to find where the leak is).  Last night he slept in his car - well, part of the night.  He had to move on from the park-and-ride lot - probably some overfed 50-something "karen," from her spacious patio, within the nearby subdivision, had called the cops.  

Floyd was staying with a buddy, but being no idiot, the welcome is wearing thin.   Was supposed to be two or three weeks, but that was almost three months ago.  Anyway, the arrangement was, from the start, his buddy wants no one else hanging around - not even the girl he's been seeing - when he's got his kids.  

So, what became of the "cool job?"  Well, it ended.  And here's the deal: floyd wasn't one to show up late, drunk or both.  Sure he partied - who doesn't, in the show-biz/nightlife industry!   In short, the job loss was through no fault of his own.   Well, wait.  He did do something to end up getting terminated, and rather suddenly.  Horror of horrors, he was no longer 27-something, and so, was replaced; it was like, within a few days after, floyd had never existed.

Making his way, he entertained the idea of schmoozing up to a woman - after all, summer was drawing to a close; the days noticeably shorter, already a chill in the morning.  At 41-ish, floyd still had it, he'd have no problem finding a gal, and one who wasn't fat - okay, hang him up by his ear, for preferring slender women.  Problem is: fat or not, women with good jobs, stable housing, their own stuff are ... so [blasphemy] bossy.  Floyd bit his lip - while never having been a religious man...still, there was something not at all good with taking God's name in vain.

He passed a road sign.  Shaefield's is hiring; they're a good outfit to get into - health insurance, 401k plan ...  But you need a CDL.  Nuf said.  

Get a companion? (Eck!) Doesn't sound workable. A 40-ish woman was advising

game-over men - that is, guys who are no longer able to be players - that there are decent women out there; women of means.  Women - who in the 90s - were taking their schoolwork seriously, went to college, found good jobs, bought houses, invested in 401ks and such ...  Yeah, how about that: the "wall" is gender blind, but anyway...  These successful women are single, and some would like to meet decent men; men who are interested in going places and doing things.

Needful to say, these smart women are cautious.  They have friends and acquaintances, and so, have heard the stories: guy moves into his girlfriend's 3k square feet, lounges about (half stoned)  dishes in the sink, food wrappers on the coffee table...; gf comes in from a double shift, and he's at her to cook him a sammich.

All and all, what the lady described as a desirable companion was, basically, what the late Professor Daniel Amneus - author of "Garbage Generation" (the pdf is somewhere on the net) - described as a "housemale."

The intent of this post, is not to bash this live-in companion.  Like anyone, man or woman, when you get older, things change; man or woman, if you don't "cope" with the glaring fact, you're no longer all-star quarterback or head cheerleader/supermodel, well, down the drain ya go.  Anyway, was thinking about this poster companion, who's 30k job - not bashing that either - could barely afford him a small, rather dingy apartment, let alone a spacious four bedroom house, with a pool/hot tub, in a drama-free neighborhood.

Was thinking about him; namely, his future.  While statistically, women outlive men, what happens if she gets into a fatal car accident?  Can only hope, that his "coping" skills included stashing some of his 30k wages into savings.  Why?  Well, namely, you can about bet, that lovely house - which the deceased woman had bought, budgeted and paid for, with her money - will go to her (adult) child/ren.  Even if they were married, (and not just fornicating) he will likely have to pack his stuff, and move on.  But married or not, hopefully, the woman had thought enough of him to leave him with atleast some funds.  

But will things work out with the couple, given the not quite natural circumstances...?  The can-do woman probably did do a visit to her $300 an hour attorney... and they probably discussed her prenup draft, over top-shelf coffee and pastries.  Anyway, concerning take-charge women, what a certain preacher said, would surely set jaws a gnashing ... truth hurts ...  He had said, when women are living contrary to God's design, we "become emotionally unstable."  The preacher, in his sermon, however, did not mention men's mental state.  

Preecher didn't have to - for more info concerning men's behavior (in these twisted times) just go to any news sight.  Yep, you guessed it: it wasn't some (size) XX "karen" who robbed the bakery, and took a tire iron to the pie case.  (Why do robbers do that, when they know dern well the money's in the register?)

"I will therefore that the younger women marry, bear children, guide the house, give non occasion to the adversary to speak reproachfully." I Timothy 5:14

Oh yeah, hear the prudies tell - the sort of people who'd likely raise

pharisaical eyebrows at the couple living in their van; would likely just walk on by, thinking, well! they have money for cigarettes.  Then go back, without a further thought, to their football-field sized homes - with amenities coming out the ying-yang. Yeah, sort of people who kvetch about their precious tax dollars funding welfare, and other government programs designed to help people on hard times.  In short, bleeping cheapskates - the sort who are dern glad that roeVwade is off the table, while at the same time, won't come up with even a $20 for the local pregnancy center's donation bottle.

The homeless couple with the cigarettes?  Hey prudies, you try being homeless; it's bleeping stressful, AND expensive, living in your vehicle.  So clean-living awesome you, might, after three days, have half a mind to  take up smoking. 

And yeah, i get it : it's wise to be real careful who you invite in your home.  More often than not, even with relatives, three weeks somehow becomes three months - lights left on, unwashed dishes left in the sink, stuff laying everywhere...greets you when coming home from work.  House cleaning around stuff that's not yours, thrice the work.  Oh, and that blasting, blaring TeeVee - ugh!  Your, formerly peacefully minimalistic living space, is now chaotic enough without that (wall)space hoggie thing - which seems to have your "guest/s" mesmerized...which is precisely why you don't own a television.  You've noticed the visual noise has been bothering you at work, stirring up Resentment - all's you want, is to do your job without being bugged, by hardships you didn't create.  Oh, and what the heck is this???  You go to pick up a food wrapper, but the corner of the package clings to the endtable.

"Whoso mocketh the poor reproacheth his Maker : and he that is glad at calamities shall not be unpunished."  Proverbs 17:5

Was reading somewhere, if the average woman's s3x-drive is about a four, a man's is

about an eleven or twelve.  Have heard more than two or three for-real Christian men say, it's a struggle to not look at, or think about, young attractive women - and that if women had a clue what men were really thinking, the pretty ladies would hotfoot it over to the nearest hardware store, for a good length of tarp.  Not the exact words, but close enough. While for-real Christian men (and women) strive to put the breaks on their baser natures (s3x/videos, junk food...stupid choices in general), where's this leave non-christians?

Anyway, maybe that desire, that won't - for more than two minutes - leave men alone, raises up the unclean spirit of Resentment towards women - especially, women with "body counts" higher than four or five.  Oh my!  The real disgust is the lack of compassion.  Most "304s" were raised - or not - by selfish parent/s, and likely are stuck, and have no idea, whatsoever, to get themselves unstuck.  

Sure, there are double standards - gals can emote about this, that, and the other, while guys are expected to just cowboy up, hold it in, and get on with the business of life/leadership.  Ask any supervisor...  But these red-pillers don't want to lead.  Hear them tell... they sound like a gaggle of premenopausal "whamen" from the data entry pool - who's social life is about on par with their 401k balance.   Really pathetic.

"And if the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear ?"  I Peter 4:18

The front burner of katie's stove isn't predictable, it sometimes doesn't know the difference between low heat and high. So, she quit using that burner;

the stove's only large burner.  The oven also heats less than even.   Katie put the word out for a used stove, because a new one isn't happening - her monthly lot rent is ... IN$ANE!!!!  Six of one, and a half dozen of the other.  Cooking dinner is cheaper than takeout.  But is it?  Especially with the high temps - it will be in the 90s all week; the a/c doesn't run for free.

Katie finds herself questioning if having gotten off welfare is really worth the hassle.  When she was home with her child, their living space was neater; her child was free to either play outside, or come in and do something else.  Now, with working, her four - going on five - year old, is stuck in all year around, in structure, among strangers; that's  a bit young, for full-time worldly drama. The change in her child's demeanor hasn't gone unnoticed - not that it takes a kiddie head-shrink degree to diagnose the cause.  

Truth be told, katie has also noticed a change in her "coping" skills.  Gonna happen, when you're running in three different directions, at the same time.  And her boss wasn't happy with katie having to leave work, because day care called - yep, her child sneezed...oh my, the bubonic plague be upon us ;/  But seriously, katie has cause for concern - after all, she has no way of knowing what sort of homes the other children are raised in.  She couldn't help but to notice the animal hair all over the shirt of ... do the kid's parents know how to use the washer?  Perhaps, it's inoperable/under a pile of ... junk.  By the way, katie is well aware, there is one or two better day-care facilities in the area, but they might as well be 60 miles in the other direction; both are out of reach; the one was $1,200, the other wasn't far behind.  Too far ...  But even so, those 500k houses may look neat on the outside...

"Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees,  hypocrites! for ye make clean the outside of the cup and of the platter, but within they are full of extortion and excess.

Thou blind Pharisee, cleanse first that which is within the cup and platter, that the outside of them may be clean also."  Matthew 23:25-26