I Am The Passenger, And I Ride and I Ride

A guy riding his bike, comes off the curb, and falls into the bike lane on the street. Literally laying in the gutter,
his bike on top of him, the wheels spinning in the air. The young man locked eyes with me for a only a second or two.
We both were laughing and we both shrugged our shoulders. When shit like that happens, it's all you can do.

For the longest time there was a homeless guy living behind the huge 'Walgreens' sign at Greenfield & Southern.
He had a mattress on the ground, right there, next to the road, behind the sign. Hidden in plain sight. I was amazed
the cops didn't make him pack it in, right away. For weeks on end, I'd see him there, on his mattress, with his dog.
Every time we drove by, I'd get a quick, three-second glimpse of him. He was like most of the homeless in Mesa, tanned, middle-aged, with greying hair. Usually when I'd get my quick look, passing him, he'd just be sitting with his dog or a fellow
homeless friend. But this one time, when we passed, I couldn't believe my eyes. The guy behind the sign had a chick on his mattress. A young girl, not homeless, by the looks of her. Young, fresh faced, looked like a cute, brunette, college girl. They
were making out hard and passionately, while one of his homeless friends looked on. Grinning wide, watching them suck face. It was a beautiful sight. Everyone deserves a little lovin' from time to time. Especially homeless guys living behind signs.

We could see it from nearly a mile away, as my wife drove around the curve of the 202, it was up ahead. Glowing in the dark of night. It was a chilling sight, something about flames in the night, on the freeway, made my blood run cold. All the cars ahead of us slowed down, nearly came to a stop, as they passed. It was a car fully engulfed in flames, just blazing away, the frame of the car lit up and glowing orange. Firemen were spraying their hose and trying to get to the door. Someone was still in the car, I could make out the shape of a burning person. With our windows rolled down, as we slowly passed, you could feel the heat from the raging flames.
You could also hear the screams and smell the burning hair.

On our way to Phoenix, my Mom and I, passed through a tunnel. For a five year old, it was the coolest thing in the world. The shiny, white, tiles
all bright with yellow lights. I started out my window, in wide-eyed wonder, that only kids have. A little red truck pulled up next to us. Looking inside,
I saw a man with a woman's head in his lap. But she didn't have any facial features whatsoever. No nose, mouth, or eyes, just blank. The man was
slowly petting the blonde hair of the head. I screamed. My Mom looked over and immediately started laughing.
"Don't be scared mijo...it's not real. It's just a mannequin head, like what they put the clothes on in the stores."
"Are you sure Mom?"
"Yes I'm sure...what a fuckin' weirdo though, huh?"
Every time I go through a tunnel with white tiles, lit up by yellow light, I think of this. Even now.

We were on the freeway, nearly out of Mesa, when traffic came to a sudden stop. No one was moving for a few minutes, as the red & blue lights flashed
all over. There had been a wreck apparently. As we inched closer, I could see a Harley on the ground, behind a big trailing skid. There were no other vehicles,
just the motorcycle. When we passed I saw a real big guy on the ground. The EMT's were pushing down on his chest, performing CPR, with each push his large
belly shook and swayed. Back and forth, back and forth. We finally picked up speed and were headed back down the freeway, leaving the red & blue lights behind us.
I pulled out my phone and called my Father, to be sure it wasn't him. He was alright, at home, but I swear...their belly's and bike's coulda been twins.

A bicycle laying on the sidewalk, with groceries spilled, eggs broken all over, a gallon of milk split open, pouring into the gutter, a guy sitting between two bushes,
his head in his hands, and his body shaking as he sobbed. He looked up at me, red-faced and covered in tears and drool. For those couple seconds we locked eyes. I stared back, blank as paper.

"Jesus fucking Christ! Are you serious?" My girlfriend said.
I looked out her window to see a fat couple. Both of them riding one of those 'Rascal' scooters. One sitting in the seat, the other standing, just cruisin' along together. An overweight parade. We used to see them all the time, always around the Gilbert & Broadway area. They'd always take turns standing and sitting. One day that guy was standing and steering, with the woman lounging in the chair. Whenever we'd see them, we'd always get into a discussion about how lazy Americans are. That and then the conversation would always turn to firebombing the fat scooter couple with a molotov cocktail. For some reason.