Sunday, December 28, 2014

Blues on Parade

He waddles up Union Street on the sunny side of the street, cigarette perched beneath a thin blond mustache that only serves to accent the roundness of his moony face. Old army fatigues bulge and surrender across the fields of his flesh, and a bright green bandanna like a headband under his hat seems definitely non-regulation.

He stops, flicks the gold zippo lighter once, twice, three times with no effect and a look of preordained disgust, and, as I approach, gives me a squint.

"You smoke?" he asks as I walk by, and then, when I shake my head: "Jesus Christ!"

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