Friday, April 10, 2015

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.

I wonder if he had ever asked anything from anyone. Always wanting little, he enjoyed the convenience of little wants. Is he happy when he takes what’s given? Is he sad when he refuses?

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