It's about the deterioration of my city.
Part 1
I went to the library on Monday. It was dusk, and the moon, hiding behind the grey fading day, was waiting for its big takeover. As I stepped off the sidewalk of granite and gum stains a wiry man, with hair of straw and sand approached me. He was agitated and his clothes (some slim, old jeans and a big Chicago Bulls shirt that looked liked a bedsheet on him) had the odor of long-unwashed laundry.
"Hey, man. What's up?" he asked me.
"Nothing." After a long pause, sizing him up, it was clear this was all i had to say and he became a little more frazzled. He looked as though he was trying to clear bugs from his skin.
"You need any whites, bud?"
"What, like crack?"
"Yeah, yeah." He seemed to be liking me now.
"No, I don't need any crack." And we were back to an awkward square one.
"You need any weed?"
"No."
Rain had begun to fall. He had failed his sale and had hurried down the street, around a corner and gone.
Tags: