Part 14 Popcorn Man
He digs his right arm into the bag and shovels it into his
face, as most of the corn flies half-crunch-munched to the floor. The little
birds fly little, temporary flights, dodging, and landing around his swaying
Parkinson legs, catching jettisoning popcorn kernels, mid-air bombs. He refuses,
or takes and tosses any other food from passers-by – donuts lay rotting and
trodden around him, he affirms a “No”, to the bananas I offer. In a second of
personal affront, I wish that he shits bloody kernels tonight. And then I take
it back. Arguably, the dynamics of choice aren’t differential – perhaps he is
allergic to bananas. Nothing personal, bro. But I strain my eyes to adjudge if
he were wearing any of the clothes that I had given him a month ago, or shoes.
The same dirty rain-or-shine bomber hides the same dirty red and black hoodie.
Nothing. He had chosen popcorn over bananas. He had chosen a favorite bomber
over a new coat.
There is no need for a new coat when there is nowhere to
hang it up, but at the corner of Walnut and Broad, no want for a new pair of
shoes when your feet are now walking calluses.
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