In my blue Volvo, I drive down the street of a heavily populated downtown New york. It is my first time here and I have taken three days off to visit my brother who lives in this hell of a city. I turn a corner and nearly crash into a white F150 as I notice a woman in her seemingly late 60’s, with heavy purple bruises covering both of her frail flabby arms, wearing leopard nylon tights & a pink bikini, standing on the sidewalk, smoking half a cigarette. I realize that this lady is what is called a ‘hooker’, or ‘working lady’, or ‘streetwalker’, and my face twists up in disgust as I think of all the unnamed STD’s, & the mutant crabs that must be infecting this lady. I take three deep breaths and calm myself as I regain control of my car and turn yet another corner, only to find myself stuck at a red light.
Ahead of me, I see three cars.
One silver, one black, and one red.
I roll down the window and let the heavily polluted New york air punch me dead in my face. I sigh. I barely notice the big splat that is made as a small grey bird drops a big load of shit straight on my windshield. I glance up to check the time and that’s when I see him. Right there, in my rearview mirror: a man with army cargos, neon green flip-flops, a heavily stained now-brown wifebeater, and a black headband to hold back the powerful fury of his brown, lice infested, greasy-beyond-imagination-hair. As I’m taking all this in, I notice that this peculiar man is holding a sign. I squint in my rearview mirror to make out the scribble that clearly indicates that this man dropped out of elementary school without ever making it on the Scripps National Spelling Bee. With much effort, I finally decipher the writing to “wil doo any think 4 $$”. It doesn’t take my brain long to translate these close-to-hieroglyphics characters into “Will do anything for money”.
The fear is clearly visible on my face as reality hits me and I realize just who this man is.
This is the man. This is…the one man that my brother had warned me about upon my departure to New york. This is… a yankee hobo.
I become immobile with panic as he approaches my car. And then……………………………………………………………………………………………………….shit, shit,writer’s block.
…To be continued.
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