You never know who you're going to meet when you're traveling. A couple days ago, I mentioned that I was getting ready to take the bus back to Portland, hoping to find a good story. Here’s what happened.
The first leg of the trip, from Walla Walla to Pasco, was uneventful. We stopped in a couple small towns along the way—sometimes picking people up, sometimes not. That’s the biggest drawback to riding the bus—it can be pretty inefficient because you stop so often.
At Pasco, I had a layover of about 45 minutes. I wanted to get something to eat, but unfortunately, the Pasco station is not close to any restaurants. With a backpack, a guitar and a heavy duffle bag, walking the mile back to the taco stands we had passed on the way to the station did not sound like fun, so I opted to just sit down on a bench to wait for my next bus to leave.
About five minutes later, a young guy came and sat down on the opposite end of the bench. He was in his early twenties and wore a black t-shirt, baggy jeans and a pair of well-worn black Air Jordan basketball shoes. He was about average height and had a medium build. It looked like at some point in his life he had lifted weights, but had not done so for quite a while. He wore his hair cropped very short and had not shaved in three or four days. He had someone’s name tattooed on his right wrist, and on the inside of his left forearm, a large raptor spread its wings. When he sat down, I got the sense that he wanted to talk. I made eye contact with him, which was all the encouragement he needed.
“Where you going?” he asked me.
“Portland. How about you?”
“I’m going to Spokane,” he replied. “I just got out of jail, and I’m getting the hell out of here!”
I knew right then that I had found my story.
The Undertown is underground
