Joe Banner

Friday, July 8, 2011

Collection

Speedy. Speedy stopped my on my path. Not his or ours, it's mine, and he was on it. He stopped and asked if I smoked the green. When the words 'Just patchouli, haha, no sir' confused him, I backed away. Speedy stuck out his hand. He told me he was Speedy. Gotchya.
"You single? You hot." He really was squinting a lot. In fact, I was concerned for his lack of eyesight more than I was for almost anything else. Hello, pepper-spray. Where have you been all my life?
"Well, uh, thanks, yeah, I mean, no, sir. I mean, um, I have a date. They'd be mad." No, sir. I'm secretly a lesbian... or a man. Both, actually... with.. AIDs. Lots of them. Yup, that's it. Gotta go.
"Well, I wouldn't wanna screw that up, now would I? I'll see you around, girl, right?"
"Yeah..see ya." Not on your tattoos, you won't

Yesterday, I met Speedy.
Wheelchair. Mr. Guy In A Motorized Wheelchair was walking the river in front of me. Stop turning for the river. You're scaring me. He was under the bridge, and his face was melting. Riding close for the water, I panicked.
"Hey, sir!" I smiled. He turned, and while his neck craned, the chair followed. "It's gorgeous out here, isn't it, sir?"
"Whaaaaaaaat?" Oh. I may be heading for the water too, if I couldn't hear the music. I tried again, and he let me know that he already knew that. A tad of relief hit when he started following me out. I was on an adventure, walking through the grass and wildflowers.
"You gonna get poison ivy?" I let him know that no, sir, I'm not allergic. He wasn't either, and he followed next to me for a while, back and forth, him on the pavement. Eventually he let me know that today was a great day for fishing.
"Yes, sir. It looks like it would be." He went home to grab his pole, and I was grateful for breath without thought.
Yesterday, I met a very old man in a wheelchair.
Junkie. Friar Tuck and I sat, wedged between rocks, harboring close my favorite spot*, mandolin, ukulele, and burning incense close in tote. Out of a God-forsaken nowhere, out came a young face, almost entirely hidden by shaggy black hair. He was bouncing on his heels, and wanted to know if we knew Sunny. Actually, he wanted to know if weee duuudes kneeew Suuunny. No, duuuude, sorry.
"Well, maaaaan, I juuuust got out of jaaail. I mean, just, duuudes. But I goooootta guitar at mah plaaaace.... can I jam with you, duuudes?" Look sir, you're hotter than the weather here, and we're one guitar short of a street performance. . . but I'm gonna leave you haaaangin', and have to say the jail part worries me.
"Well, uh, we're not sure how long we'll be here." Oh, come ON, Friar Tuck. You're six feet tall and have a y-chromosome. Please look up from your mando and pretend you're going to save me from the big bad pothead.
"Well, okay, duuudes. Peace, man." He held up two fingers and bounced off through the rocks, headed into the woods, and.. I heard a thud. Brandon had silently laughed himself off the rocks, down near me, landing where the junkie'd been floating just a second ago.
"Did that .... seriously .....happen? Because I think.... we should go..." Great, dude, now you speak.

With, Brandon, I met a juuuunkie.
*It looks like hippie heaven, covered in spray paint, love, and broken glass.

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