this imploding heart

quickly, awkwardly, late.

At first I thought he was missing an arm.

We passed him on the sidewalk, to the right, on the quick. Shaking one hand near his face and prophesying the future, his truth, all our forsaken fates.

I bought Molly a slice of pizza because I had cash and she drove us all day. We sat at the counter in the pre-bar-closing, post-show-attendace bustle. He came right to my shoulder
"Excuse me, Miss?"
He looked like a kid. Like this was a play and the fake snow is falling outside and he's been miscast as the vagrant boy in the shredded gloves.
"Will you buy me something to eat?"

There's something so particular about a specific request over a demand for money. I bought him a slice of pizza and he chatted with me in jibberish and I laughed at his jokes. laughed when he laughed.

He left. I didn't watch because of the time I bought a kid a hamburger and he threw it out and it broke my heart. My resolve has since been to forget what's given as soon as possible. Let go, already.

He appeared again outside the window. Tapped sharply at me with his first finger, his other hand filled with the folded slice of half eaten pie. He licked his first finger and started writing, quickly and deliberately, backward on the glass. I think he wrote 'Thanks' first, but continued on after that, licking his finger and writing in grease and spit.

Molly and I took a cab to Ida's to slice and assist in hostessing and fancy our crushes. She came up to me a moment ago and said "Wasnt it strange how much our cab driver looked like the man in the pizza shop? I know it's crazy, but things like that make me think I've seen Jesus."

I've always got my fingers crossed.

Posted by Sonya at October 19, 2003 01:19 AM