05/13/2026
1994. I worked downtown Dallas. I was 24. I was not a rookie. I worked for a bank on Commerce Street. I rode DART from Downtown to Fair Park for a year from 1993 to 1994. It was free. Sometimes I rode DART to Haskell to Lemmon then to Fair Park. 1994. I had watched Maradona vs West Germany at Azteca in 1986. Even as a kid, I was not a rookie. My wife at the time complained. Yet, I didn’t give up. MOST will not remember me in 1994. I was ALONE often on the first floor at Haskell and Oak Lawn. I had the KEYS to the 1994 office. No one remembers me. It was dark when I turned on the lights. You know what? No one remember me. I had the brass keys. My ex wife was always mad at me. Why? She asked. No one cares about you.
I would wiggle the keys on a Saturday morning.
It was dark.
Eh. No supplies. Not even a pencil.
I’m like, they give me the keys.
I would look around the dark office. Manila folders. Pens. Pencils. Nothing. I had to bring my own. Pens and pencils.
I worked my ass off for a year.
I was ignored.
As the World Cup approached. More people approached.
I was alone for a year. Then , dozens, hundreds, thousands, showed.
I went from lonely to suffered by thousands.
Suddenly no one cared about me.
1993 was a weird year.
I was alone for months. Then as 1994 approached many showed.
Me. Brown. Many blondes and blue eyed showed. I was forgotten.
Suddenly I was pushed to the side. I TRIED my best. No one cared about me. No one cared and I was there for two years.
I’m not sad. Everyone forgot about me. No one cared I was there for two years.
