Cross.

P emits an odor that seems to have not only shape, but possibly personality, or maybe even free will. His voice is loud and nasal(that observation coming from a bona fide loud Yankee, mind you), and it carries. Despite the air conditioning, and the ice machine, and various fans, as well as the television and the hundred plus feet that separate us, it carries, and it touches a nerve somewhere deep within my spine.
P helps out at work, doing odd jobs that I can't or won't or don't have time to do. I'm actually glad to have him around--I just don't want to talk to him before I've had a cup of coffee. Sometimes I have to.
I woke up late for work. The b.h. was awake but apparently not paying attention to the time. I jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and put enough water on my hair to flatten it out a bit (prior to this I appear much like the "Mr. Heatmiser" from Rudolph's Shiny New Year). I don't think my eyes were even open all the way when I pulled out of the driveway. The upside of going to work in this condition is that I am not conscious enough to feel the weather, get pissed at other drivers, or think about how much shit I have to do when I get there.
The downside is that rather than having some time to mentally prepare for all of these inevitabilities, when this happens I usually find myself getting hit with all of them at once, starting when I have to find somewhere to park. After circling the block about seven times, which takes forever because it is the lunch hour and there are many, many pedestrians, (Note: No speeches about how much gas I wasted or riding my bike or taking the bus--if it were possible for me to do this differently, I would. It isn't. Save your breath.) I finally managed to find a parallel spot to squeeze into. It is on an incline and my boss's car is behind it. Fortunately, my boss is even less observant than I am about his car and will probably never notice the mark I left on the bumper.
So I got to the front door and it was already unlocked. And when I opened it, I saw the bike leaning against the pool table a split second before the smell hit me.
"Hey, P." I grumbled, and headed straight for the coffee maker.
"A fucking cop slashed my tent last night, man."
"Wow. That sucks." I have no idea what the hell he is talking about, but this is nothing new.
"Yeah, I helped out down at (another bar) last night, and it was just starting to rain when I left. By the time I got back to my tent by the tracks, it was a fucking deluge, and my fucking tent was fucking slashed. It had to be a cop, because if it was a homeless guy they just woulda took it, ya know? I hate fucking cops. I had to sleep down by (yet another bar)."
I used to feel bad about this type of thing, until I realized that P can afford to have a home (or at least he could if he chose a roof over say, drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes), he just chooses not to. He moves with the weather, and unfortunately, we get him in the smeller (er, summer).
It strikes me that this is my cross to bear, as others bear the "water cooler small talk" one. Ah well, at least I don't have to wear panty hose.