It seems the quickest way to drive something out of my life is to find
a use for it.
Example – a couple of days ago, I was walking form the Ave to Jack Straw.
There was a guy lying on the sidewalk so inert I thought he might be dead.
Balanced on the back of one outstretched hand was a Vietnamese
creampuff some cruel wag had placed there.
When I went back by on my way to lunch, he was still on the sidewalk,
but in a slightly different position, and the creampuff was gone. It
occurred to me the creampuff offering might have been intended as a
kindness, and not a mockery.
The next day I came by, he was asleep in the same place. This got to
be a pattern, and quickly became background to my daily experiences.
But one day he was sitting up, drawing carefully in a sketchpad.
I stole a glance at it as I passed – the sketch was a drawing of two
ethereal Wednesday Adams types. Kind of creepy, but nicely done. The
next time I walked by, he was working on another, similar picture of
the gossamer twins. He said something just after I passed – I
couldn't make out what he said, but I believed it was directed at me.
"What did you say?" I asked.
"Do you have a cigarette?" he repeated, clearly enough for me to
understand him this time.
"No," I said, "but I've got some change."
I don't usually give money to panhandlers, but I do try to patronize
the arts. In fact, I resolved that the next time I saw him I would
ask him if he'd sell me one of his drawings. I thought it would make
a nice CD cover.
I haven't seen him since.
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