Category: cherry street

David II Be Wrong

 

So David thinks, if he has some non-cloudy thoughts that I am the photo-journalist who has threatened the Market place, causing some to chase the errant shooter from the scene. He said, “I will break your camera and then kill you.”

Paul said, “he’s a friend; chill.”

Moved up the street. Pregnant again. “A mistake,” she said.

“I am proud of you, girl” Alicea said when I mentioned an abortion to Cheryl. Not like me to engage them in a discussion of their politics or closely held beliefs, even if they cannot pay for them or appreciate the effects of their decisions.

If looks could do more than get you laid, Andrew would be a star. He is just caught in the vortex. Life ain’t easy and bad things happen to good people. He has bad acts in his past, so cleaning it up cannot do it for him, here.

 

 

Paul Rails

 

“Hey dude. You know that some of us want to remain anonymous. You put us on the web and people willl know we are here.” What’s wrong with that.” “There are people here who may be wanted.” “Sure enough, my man, but most of them are unwanted.”

 

Eric ponders whatever Paul was talking about. “I had too much whiskey, too fast.”

I went to the Sholem Shuk, a local thrift shop to pick up a some clothes for Paul. Bought two pairs of pants and two T shirts for $5. Some kids stole his shoes, but the store that is too far from downtown to help the homeless, didn’t have his size shoes or any socks. Believe it or not, he liked the shirt.

 

 

Paul Complains Again

 

Same old. Same old. Seizures no one recognizes. System want to put him in jail for tickets. Judge doesn’t want him in. No clothes. No id. No driver’s license. Needs a shower. Not crazy enough for disability because no diagnosis. Beaten by cops. No idea why no alms on the street.

 

Paul Smells

He smelled so bad, I could not come close enough to shoot. But he still looked like he had dignity. He complained that the yellow jackets poured out his beer as he sat in front of the Methodist Church with the permission of the Pastor. His time be running thin. Will he realize it? Who knows. He didn’t last summer.

“No one wants to help me,” he complained. “I can’t get a pair of pants or a pair of shoes.” “Not so,” I replied. “No one wants to help you in this condition. That’s all. You are wearing pants I got for you.”

 

 

 

Jesse and My Coffee Cup

I left my coffe cup near the rock. Jesse kept it over the weekend. It returned to me a little bruised, but not broken. Had not marked it lost. Hard to explain how one becomes connected to a cup. Sure, it protects the environment, but it also has a feel that I have become attached to, associating it with the liquid it carries and its presence at the beginning of a day. This cup has been with me since Manchester, early oughts. But it never lived in someone’s backpack for four days, not knowing if it would ever see me again.

So, you think this is stupid, eh? If you be a dunkin donut drinker, do you think the cups really disintegrate, or don’t you care? I don’t know if you have a regular cup, many do, especially if they give to charities without taking the beneficial artist mug. When I leave my cup in the care by mistake, my day starts differently if I don’t’ have my cup. I sometimes spill on myself due to unfamiliarity with the opening. Could it be that it also tastes better? I know that it feels better and that it means that I didn’t lose it.