The dogs have decided that the weather is too nice to stay in bed even though it's not even threatening to get light at 10 to 6 in the morning in these parts. I just gave a thought to the fact that Daylight Savings Time comes to an end soon, meaning 10 to 6 in Dog Time will be 10 to 5 in Eastern Standard Time -- it was a fleeting thought that is nonetheless trying to break through the barrier into the constant thought category, and I am trying to suppress it.
Walking toward me was a homeless guy. Now, I know that you're asking yourself, "How does he know the guy is homeless?" because not every person out at 10 to 6 on a Sunday morning is a homeless guy. I know that. I think it was the jacket -- one that hung open to thigh level, kind of a used-to-be, off-white canvas coat with a lot of ground-in dirt that shaded to black in most places. And maybe the fact he was looking into the cigarette butt receptacles gave away his true identity.
The homeless guy, let's call him "Roberto," approached. "Excuse me, sir," he said (And I am always totally blown away when anyone calls me "sir" because I don't think of myself as the "sir" type; I'm more comfortable with "man," actually, not "sir." I am always like, "Is (he) (she) talking to me?" when I am called "sir."), "My name's Roberto." See, that's why I said that we should call him "Roberto."
And I just knew he was going to ask me for money. It was just a question of the approach, whether there would be a story; and I fully expected a story because Roberto was personalizing our relationship, the first step in asking for more than spare change -- probably money for the rapid train to go to the airport so he could fly to see his sick sister in St. Louis or $2.50 for the bus.
"You're a baseball player, I see," Roberto pointed out. I must admit that I was somewhat taken aback by that statement. So, I said, "Used to be."
"I thought so. You look like a baseball player," he replied. He had baited the hook, and I had bitten. He was going to reel me in.
"Yankees win last night?" he asked. "No. Rangers won, 7 to 2," I replied. Bella growled and lunged a little toward him, causing him to back away. Bella hates Yankees fans. Now.
"How about the Phillies?"
"Giants, 4 to 3," I smiled. Because for as long as I can remember, I've been a Giants fan -- long-suffering Giants fan, that is, just as I am a long-suffering Indians fan; and the irony is that the Giants last won the World Series against the Indians long before I have a memory.
And then Roberto said, with a hint of melancholy, perhaps, "Thanks, man. Appreciate it. I wasn't able to catch the games last night."
And that was that.
Posted by Bill at October 17, 2010 02:57 PMGood story, man.
Posted by: Kyle at October 17, 2010 08:45 PM