"Jesus! How you doin'?"
"Alright man."
"Come on. Follow me."
"Where are you going?"
"Over to the corner to panhandle. Come on."
Richard leads Jesus through a park walk on a bright day in May to the corner. Richard sets a bag with books down on the ground along with his water cup and holds a sign standing on the curb that reads: "Jokes $1: Books $10." Richard also holds a self published book and a clown horn in his hands dressed in full clown regalia.
"OK, man. I'll be over here."
"OK, Jesus."
A man holding a "no drugs: homeless" sign stands across the one way street on the driver side of vehicles passing and Richard stands on the passenger side of drivers stopping at a red light. Richard and the panhandler on the other side of the street exchange words being jocular.
After about five minutes, a bicycle policeman pulls up from behind Richard standing on a curb holding his sign.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm selling my books. What!? Did somebody call you?"
"No. This is my patrol. I patrol this area. What does your sign say?"
"Jokes $1. Books $10. I talked to Bud at the City Clerk's office this morning in lieu of Janice and he said that I am well within my first amendment rights to do this."
"Where are the jokes?"
"The jokes are in my head. Do you want to buy my book?"
"I don't have any money. OK. But no weaving in and out of traffic."
Richard thinks to say: 'and, you have a job?'
"I'm not weaving in and out of traffic. Can't be right in the head to stand in a median."
A police cruiser pulls up along side Richard and the bicycle policeman on the curb.
"He's selling his books."
"Books?"
"Yeah. Can I borrow ten bucks to buy it?"
Richard hands the book to the adolescent passenger in the front seat of the cruiser who, it seems to Richard, is a plebe in the police force.
"That's the first time I have stepped off this curb," Richard states to the bicycle policeman handing over the book.
"He's masturbating in the front seat..."
"He's masturbating in the front seat? Who's masturbating in the front seat?"
"That's what it says right here."
"So, what!? What are you going to do: vet the book? They sell these at the bookstore in town. I made eighteen bucks off of them. So, are you going to buy it? The book is ten bucks."
"Where are the jokes?"
"The jokes are in his head," the bicycle policeman interjects. "How much do they sell them at the bookstore?"
"Uh ... I don't know. Whatever."
"OK. Let's just take a picture of you. Maybe some of the boys down at the station will buy your book."
"Hold up your sign and the book," the bicycle policeman says.
The picture is taken by the policeman in the driver seat of the cruiser out of the open passenger window stealing from Richard's soul his clown spirit to exercise free speech. The cruiser turns the corner and the bicycle policeman says that Richard's dog tied to a post off the curb might need shade.
"I'm out of here anyway, soon. I am not accomplishing much here."
"OK."
The bicycle policeman rides off down the street.
"That's the fortieth time," Richard yells across the street at the homeless man holding a "no drugs: homeless" sign. "I have to go write a short story. I'm out of here."
"Good luck guy!"
"Alright man."
"Come on. Follow me."
"Where are you going?"
"Over to the corner to panhandle. Come on."
Richard leads Jesus through a park walk on a bright day in May to the corner. Richard sets a bag with books down on the ground along with his water cup and holds a sign standing on the curb that reads: "Jokes $1: Books $10." Richard also holds a self published book and a clown horn in his hands dressed in full clown regalia.
"OK, man. I'll be over here."
"OK, Jesus."
A man holding a "no drugs: homeless" sign stands across the one way street on the driver side of vehicles passing and Richard stands on the passenger side of drivers stopping at a red light. Richard and the panhandler on the other side of the street exchange words being jocular.
After about five minutes, a bicycle policeman pulls up from behind Richard standing on a curb holding his sign.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm selling my books. What!? Did somebody call you?"
"No. This is my patrol. I patrol this area. What does your sign say?"
"Jokes $1. Books $10. I talked to Bud at the City Clerk's office this morning in lieu of Janice and he said that I am well within my first amendment rights to do this."
"Where are the jokes?"
"The jokes are in my head. Do you want to buy my book?"
"I don't have any money. OK. But no weaving in and out of traffic."
Richard thinks to say: 'and, you have a job?'
"I'm not weaving in and out of traffic. Can't be right in the head to stand in a median."
A police cruiser pulls up along side Richard and the bicycle policeman on the curb.
"He's selling his books."
"Books?"
"Yeah. Can I borrow ten bucks to buy it?"
Richard hands the book to the adolescent passenger in the front seat of the cruiser who, it seems to Richard, is a plebe in the police force.
"That's the first time I have stepped off this curb," Richard states to the bicycle policeman handing over the book.
"He's masturbating in the front seat..."
"He's masturbating in the front seat? Who's masturbating in the front seat?"
"That's what it says right here."
"So, what!? What are you going to do: vet the book? They sell these at the bookstore in town. I made eighteen bucks off of them. So, are you going to buy it? The book is ten bucks."
"Where are the jokes?"
"The jokes are in his head," the bicycle policeman interjects. "How much do they sell them at the bookstore?"
"Uh ... I don't know. Whatever."
"OK. Let's just take a picture of you. Maybe some of the boys down at the station will buy your book."
"Hold up your sign and the book," the bicycle policeman says.
The picture is taken by the policeman in the driver seat of the cruiser out of the open passenger window stealing from Richard's soul his clown spirit to exercise free speech. The cruiser turns the corner and the bicycle policeman says that Richard's dog tied to a post off the curb might need shade.
"I'm out of here anyway, soon. I am not accomplishing much here."
"OK."
The bicycle policeman rides off down the street.
"That's the fortieth time," Richard yells across the street at the homeless man holding a "no drugs: homeless" sign. "I have to go write a short story. I'm out of here."
"Good luck guy!"
I can't move my bowels.
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