Wellesley and Yonge, 12:30pm.
There is an attractive woman in front of me about 5 metres, walking towards the subway. Her hair is bouncing in time with her steps, the back of her short skirt resembling twin cantalopes in tight plastic wrap, stuck on a mini seesaw. She looks good.
She passes a street troll, wild eyed, unshaven for months and stained. He sees her and throws her arms open and makes smoochie lips. Of course she gives him a wide berth.
I pass the street troll and he makes eye contact with me. He wordlessly strikes a “put ’em up! put ’em up!” pose and with all the wiskers and wild hair, he reminds me of the Cowardly Lion.
Where are my smoochies?!
4 thoughts on “Time For a Make-over”
last week a homie stopped me and ask if I knew which nation was the best in the world? I said I didn’t have any money, knee jerk reaction I guess… but he insisted, so I played along and said I didn’t know… so he smiled and extended his hand and answered: Do-Nation… I actually laughed since it was the first time I heard it… but I still didn’t give money…
Working at 7-11 in Pittsburg California in 1987, a homeless man came in and offered his sexual services to my modelesque coworker and roomie Tanya for some food. She was aghast and threatened to call the cops. I felt bad for the guy and bought him a hotdog(with my employee discount) and super big gulp. The next day, he comes in carrying a kitten and says, how much food will you give me for the kitten. Needless to say, I bought him about 20 bucks worth of food and took the kitten(later named Sterling-Sterly Whirly was his nick) home. He was a cool longhaired kitten and brought much joy and smooches and I felt really good helping the homeless man twice and gaining a new kitten in the deal. The police chased the homeless man off the next day. I had to leave Sterling with Tanya when I moved back home from California. He lived to a ripe old age of 17. Never saw the homeless dude again.
Judging from that gingham number you were wearing in the trailer park he might not have liked your cantalopes as much.
Sounds like the guy who slapped me on the back Monday morning.
homeless guy: “Hey, buddy, how ya doin?”
[slaps my brand-new crisp white dress shirt]
me: “Don’t touch me.”
guy: “Why? Do you think I’ve got AIDS?”
me: “No. I don’t know you, so it’s not appropriate for you to be touching me.”
[bus comes; I get on. Guy gets into “fare dispute” with driver. I am reminded again of why I need a Rx for Xanax.]