My previous post was about having cooties. This one’s about recovery. It was nothing serious, but I’m still certainly under the weather. Today was the first time I felt motivated to clean my apartment and go for a walk in my neighborhood. It was just the kind of look I liked outside, but colder than I’d thought.
I only just know how to make quinoa for dinner, so while I waited for my quinoa to finish cooking, I thought I’d post the pictures from my walk that I took with my new smartphone that I bought to replace my old-school Nokia. Really, the pictures don’t look much better than those sad ones I used to post with my low-tech phone.
But I like the sidewalk panel one because it reminds me of Gregory Crewdson. You can google image his work with light and panels and that sort of thing. I have a lot of nerve even uttering his name in the same paragraph including a description of a picture I took with a camera phone — haha! Oh, and I do like the one with the frozen river. The first one in the third row I took because I was actually trying capture this tall, thin man walking in front of me — I liked the imagery of his figure on that block — he walked fast and I couldn’t really get him. Don’t pay any mind to the stupid plastic bag in one of my photos of the trees in the park.
And of course since I’m not on Facebook anymore (for now anyway) I had to include selfies — where else am I gonna post selfies now? There’s one happy and one sad, to represent me with cooties and without.
I apologize but boredom brings out my vanities. So, in the end, I do feel better, and I did manage to burn my quinoa. By the way it’s 3am, and I should be crawling into bed soon. Goodnight…
“Frank!” I screamed. He was back at the benches by the historical house in his wheelchair with his entourage. He’s been missing lately. He slurred, “Hello my beauty,” on his way to smashed. Once I saw him spoon with another male bum on the sidewalk. Today I wanted to give him my change from Rite Aid crumpled in my hand, but it wouldn’t have been fair to the others.
I don’t care for the one with the dreads. Once he stood by McDonald’s menacing people. I glared at him, ready. He backed off. Days later he stood in the center of the sidewalk by the historical house, facing me. He looked at me and took his dick out. He let it hang for a second before taking a piss by the wall.
On my way to work he’s usually sleeping. He surprised me with a mellifluous “Hello” one morning. He was sitting up, looking at me with doe eyes, smiling. I didn’t even know he could speak using regular words. War’s over I suppose.
Frank shares food and liquor with him. I give Frank food they give us from the café where I work. Once he was passed out drunk. I woke him to tell him I had food. He nodded, grabbed the bag and said thank you. I didn’t think it registered, but the next day, he said, “Thanks for the food my beauty. That sandwich was delicious!” He said he shared the food with his friends. He went on about how good the sandwich was.
Some are dirty and sick-looking. One was just a head in a wheelchair. Well, he had no legs and barely a torso. He’d perch in front of the subway stairs. I gasped from shock when I saw him.
The one that held the Dunkin Donuts door open for people moved to the next block. He was a sanitary hazard, filthy but friendly. He’s eyes are always red. Generally he just says hi how you doing but once he said, “You know you my baby girl.” I said, “Really? Give me some money then.”
There’s a married couple. I don’t like them. They live on the bench by the park and in a busted car. I’ll tell you about them another time because they deserve a whole post.