This is in a parking lot off Murchison. A half naked man came up to bum a cigarette. He had brillo hair on top and brimming from his pajama pants too. This guy was coming off a death trip which gave way to rambling conversation and two more cigarettes. He assured me of a sure fire plan to make us wealthier than the numbers he meshed together from a poor public school program still tingling around in what was left of his brain. It may seem unlikely that this guy was on to something other than a piss poor idea involving illegalities and violence but his words came out in such a nuanced tone, mixing in simple real points of interests like a hug from a friend or a well placed compliment that I was beginning to trust his plan.
As I began to wonder of the good which might come of this awkward meeting, this guy with what looked to be mange took a waiting room magazine from his brillo hair inside his pajama pants for me to hold, saying to read page 42. In a moment of disgust, I let the magazine slip from his hand falling to the ground. Our moment was gone along with any chance of changing our lot. I chose the perfumed soap clean smell of comfort and eight hour days. He is the motherfucker with a plan if the death trip doesn’t kill him.