train train
a freight caboose idling in the commuter yard
Went to Rusty’s via Caltrain. Took a picture of his work table. Here it is here it go.
Rusty’s folding table office
That’s where it all happens. The Rusty Sunshine empire. He has radiation appointments for the gold pin in his prostate tacked up on the wall alongside the rebate for the Dish Network satellite the Mexicans don’t use anymore and he’s having me send back in the provided box with shipping label. By Mexican I mean the young guy Jamie who came from Michuican or however you spell it, auto correct in wordpress doesn’t know so why would I?
He’s Mexican and the minorities in American love to call Racist out loud so they can see a white guy squirm but then I don’t, so they get confused and realize I’m talking about someone personally that I know who is Mexican living in shitty old trailer, the same trailer me and Oggy and Ken Hawkins and Walt and a whole bunch of white people lived in before Mexicans came along and started living there.
Rusty had prostate cancer and is alive today in spite of it. He’s the second guy I know who beat the odds and both of them (the other is Poll) are fighters. Not jerks, just no bullshit characters. So I go into the little room with the old dirty blue towel and today there is a mirror there because he’s probably been looking for skin cancer in his ears and I snap on the table lamp an I pull out the carbon copy invoice pad and I grab the stack of Locke’s hour sheets and I start trying to match up the hours Locke says he worked versus the hours Rus can remember he worked and the pile of receipts get lined up to the client by the date/time stamp that correlates to the complimentary calendar from either A1 rental or Young’s Auto Parts or whoever Rus happened to grab a free one from.
Billing is the hardest part of the job.