Tuesday, October 13, 2015


The dealing of the regulations makes the
police uneasy  -  they stand around sadly,
wondering what to do. 'Our hands are
always tied these days,' the one cop says.
His partner  -  a little, slight, female, in
turn surprising me, says 'Fuck 'em.' 
Thusly, I get surprised by so many things. 
Off to the left, a man is setting up his sidewalk 
stand  -  now with mid-October, he's hawking 
already his scarves and gloves. It's nothing unusual,
just the same Pashmina this and Pashmina that.
'Ten doolars will get you this hat!' Yeah, that's
exactly the way he says it  -  it's wrong, but you
somehow know what he means. In a small,
rounded car, a big guy sits smoking. His 
windows are down halfway, and the car
seems a humidor, stale and not fresh, with
cigarette haze hanging out. No, I wouldn't 
wish to be him. The back seat is piled with 
other things  -  I have no idea at all. In the 
mind of the freewheeling cops, all that counts
is his peddler's license, which he shows, proudly
displayed. Things have a natural and a quiet way
all their own, of being, and of getting done.

No comments: