he said he had been waiting 50 years for something.
he made himself very heard, and moved slowly to the bag.
his long ashy fingers revealed a washington redskins letterman jacket, deep within the bag.
he put it on proudly, beaming with delight as we stood there awash in awkward silence.
“so you from D.C.,”i said.
“yup,born and raised baby!”
it made me sick.
the man had been waiting 50 years for garbage.
i haven’t seen him since.
he said he didn’t use weapons over the phone he borrowed from the gutter punks.
said he was going to an underground fight club where the winners got money and the losers got broken noses.
he eyed me down as i stood there inhaling my cigarette, the fight always there in his eyes. he had given up drugs. a shredded up sleeveless jean jacket, bad tattoos, lifting weights and fighting was all he had.
she weighed at least 500 pounds.
she had a seatbelt on her rascall, or whatever it was.
i walked toward her smiling and asked if she needed to take a shower today.
i knew she probably needed it, but she was too big too walk.
her boyfriend was there in his tweety bird sweatshirt, skinny as a rail with balls of hair rising off the back of his neck, standing out in a room full of hairy old men.
she said she didn’t need to take a shower.
i’m still not sure if she could have fit through the door.





