February 20, 2004
A NEW HOMEBOY
I swear I could start an entire blog devoted to the transients homeless dispossessed lunatic bums that accost me behind the Bellsouth Tower when I cop a smoke. It's my fault, really. I could smoke in the front of the building, but I'm already forced into a Needle Park scenario, and 95% of my peeps eschew the golden leaf, so I go out back like the junkie I am.
The problem is the back area is only about 100 feet from the exit doors of the Greyhound station, so when the Fugitive Interstate Bailjumpers stagger into the bright Florida sunshine, eyes rolled back amok, like Leon in Dog Day Afternoon, the first thing they see is, well, me.
Today's guest was special, though. He approached in full battle fatigue, with a black beret on. He was older, obviously an Army-Navy surplus shopper, with a grizzled grey beard. He looked like a black version of Poopdeck Pappy.
I didn't catch his name, but not to worry. He'll be back. They always come back.
And I want him to. He was hilarious, and entertaining. Obviously mad, but I wouldn't give him the time of day if he wasn't. I shun the drunken, the fetid, the foul-mouthed, the jonesing. Mental incapacity, sans violence, does not bother me. We're all crazy, of course.
So Pappy has this laugh, which erupts at the end of every sentence. "DI, HI HI HIIIII!" Mere script does not do it justice. It was a violent barking guffaw, full of mirth and contentment. And he'd get right in your face to issue it. It was so egregious it made Dean's ejaculation sound like Miss Manners stifling a hiccough.
And it worked for him, to an extent. A great bellow like that, with head quivering like a Parkinson's case study, should be used judiciously. As I said, it erupted after every, single, sentence.
He spoke about Moses on the Mountain a lot, and the fact he had no girlfriend a lot, and how I was his tight 'un a lot.
He shook me down for a light (he had a smoke), and 50 cents for a cuppa. I gave him three dollars. He smelled clean, he had no symptoms of addiction. He was just synapse-impaired. Personally, if he'd asked, I'd have bought him a pint. A little brown liquor can mellow the vibe of the schiz, I've found.
When he finished his smoke, he left. Like the gentleman he was. The highly insane gentleman he was.
I hope I'll see him again. He was funny as ten hells. You see, it has come to that. Remember when you had a crush on someone at work, or school, and the weekends were interminable until you could see them on Monday? The Bride frowns on extracurricular dating, so I only have my back door home skillets to brighten my day. It's still better than being in the field.