Richard once spent five dollars photocopying a dissertation on the Alamo. He wears a red plaid shirt tucked over his belly and light washed jeans. He carries a shopping bag of purchases: two new spring jackets from the Salvation Army. This means he now has four spring jackets and two winter jackets. His head and face are covered in a shock of white hairs while a few wiry strands poke between his collar and neck. His smile is unassuming and simple, bearing four gnarled teeth.
He lit a Newport. "Pardon me, I hope you don't mind that I smoke, but hey, you're not downwind, right?" he grinned and flicked his lighter. I said I smoked, and it was alright. He sat up straighter, jumping a bit. "Oh, d'you want a few? D'you want a few bucks for a pack?"
We sat on two park benches on 4th Avenue on the corner of a tanning salon and beauty parlor. I caught frequent whiffs of nail polish that burnt my nose and made me sneeze. Richard didn't seem to notice.
At first, he walked up to me and said, bluntly, "D'you think you'll finish?" I looked up. I was reading a book. Finish the book? Eventually. "Oh, school," he added. I laughed and said yes, I will. In a year. He placed his purchases at the foot of the bench and sat down. I didn't ever have to say much.
He told me a lot about the Alamo. Eagerly bending forward on the bench so that he hollered at me when the traffic got heavy, he told me about dates, places and old battles. I asked what made him so curious about the Alamo.
"Isn't that what everybody's fighting for?" he said. "Property, y'know. It's worth dying for."
He showed me his government check, pulled from his back pocket and folded in half. "See, there it is. A check from the government. They always wanna know where you're getting your money, the government, y'know." Twenty dollars. "I get it every week," he boasted.
We talked for about a half hour before, mid-story, he checked the time, rose quickly, and announced he must leave. He gathered his bag, his two spring jackets, and shook my hand. "A pleasure," he said and walked east up 4th Avenue.
He lit a Newport. "Pardon me, I hope you don't mind that I smoke, but hey, you're not downwind, right?" he grinned and flicked his lighter. I said I smoked, and it was alright. He sat up straighter, jumping a bit. "Oh, d'you want a few? D'you want a few bucks for a pack?"
We sat on two park benches on 4th Avenue on the corner of a tanning salon and beauty parlor. I caught frequent whiffs of nail polish that burnt my nose and made me sneeze. Richard didn't seem to notice.
At first, he walked up to me and said, bluntly, "D'you think you'll finish?" I looked up. I was reading a book. Finish the book? Eventually. "Oh, school," he added. I laughed and said yes, I will. In a year. He placed his purchases at the foot of the bench and sat down. I didn't ever have to say much.
He told me a lot about the Alamo. Eagerly bending forward on the bench so that he hollered at me when the traffic got heavy, he told me about dates, places and old battles. I asked what made him so curious about the Alamo.
"Isn't that what everybody's fighting for?" he said. "Property, y'know. It's worth dying for."
He showed me his government check, pulled from his back pocket and folded in half. "See, there it is. A check from the government. They always wanna know where you're getting your money, the government, y'know." Twenty dollars. "I get it every week," he boasted.
We talked for about a half hour before, mid-story, he checked the time, rose quickly, and announced he must leave. He gathered his bag, his two spring jackets, and shook my hand. "A pleasure," he said and walked east up 4th Avenue.
HA shook your head
ReplyDeletetypo ; fixed.
ReplyDeleteoh. oh man! i pictured him roughing up your hair. and i liked that.
ReplyDelete