The weekend approached and the coffee shop bustled. August drew to a close and The Van Man had a gig booked. A short film. It was a good thing, too. Money was tight. He was to film in San Jacinto, wherever the hell that was. As it turned out, San Jacinto was a hundred miles away and Van Man did not know how to pronounce it. San Hahseentoe, not Wahsentuh. None of that mattered, though. He was going to make a few bucks and he knew how to say "food money".
Van Man sipped his coffee, peacefully. It was a good way to begin September, a month that always seemed to bring with it a promise of change and excitement. Kids were off the streets, classes were in session and the AC/DC concert crept ever closer. Only weeks until Dodger Stadium would house a temporary escape from the normal life for thousands of Angelinos.
A homeless man, dressed in scrubs, loudly excused himself as he passed through the people in line. They waited to order and he could not wait for the restroom any longer. The Homeless Nurse wore brand new scrubs, but his face and arms were filthy. Sunburnt and caked in dirt. He held up his four-sizes-too-big pants as he rushed out the door. That was a new one to Van Man. The nurse get-up was a nice change. Part of the same change that September brought. And The Van Man welcomed it. He had some auditions lined up and a feeling that things would be different this time. He would continue to book gigs and make a bit of scratch to get him through the fall. Or, at least, to AC/DC.