Monday, January 2, 2017

She Doesn't Have Pockets

The homeless guy who haunts our block has a little hustle going with vinyl records and secondhand books that he salvaged from somewhere or other. He lays them out on a blanket in a nice display and offers them for sale while he simultaneously spare-changes pedestrians.

He's got his headphones on today, so we don't speak, but he does give me a fistbump as I walk by with the dog, his expression neutral.

It's only when we're past that he suddenly thinks of what he wants to say, the same thing he says every day, with variations, which he always addresses to the dog: "Hey, where's my New Year's gift?" he asks Coco with a grin, as the dog regards him with a puzzled expression.
One year ago today: Could Be Into More Than One Thing
Two years ago today: Salty Teeth
Three years ago today: I Believe You Have Something of Mine.
Five years ago today: 1/1/12 A new kind of new year
Six years ago today: 1/1/11 We ended up straightening up a little
Nine years ago today: 1-1-08 - A Tiger, A Jacket

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