skeezofreenick

Mother Theresa's face on the living room floor of SVM

This fork looks right at me as I whistle a closely guarded tune. The life of the charcoal-smith sitting in the passenger seat is 10 stories long. I whistle as I hear it. A homeless kid asked me a question the other day. He asked if I slept well at night. That kept my mind going for a week when I finally paused my thoughts and took a nap on the sidewalk in Times Square. Waking up fresh was easy after that. The charcoal-smith passed by as I got up to get some coffee. I waved at him and tossed my lucky fork to the homeless kid and asked him to protect it. He smiled at me just for a while and ran up to the 10th storey of Times Square. I went and got my coffee from the coffee chain, just to come back and see the kid with his face down around the curb. Cranberry juice was just flowing like there is a leak somewhere. He had jumped. I shed a tear. The charcoal-smith gave me his seat after that. Very nice of him. Sleep well, sonny. You'll have good sleep now. Last fall i swept all the leaves under my bed and now they have grown into bushes. They smell like weed. Little homeless kid showed me how to roll them in dried Nipah leaves. I told him to remember me fondly. I heard from someone he is an orphan and then they went on to say that the heaven's gates have passive grafitti...like words...like 'make bongs, not bombs', and 'HE smokes, too'. I have called him son. I have called him the homeless kid. I have called him charcoal smith. I had my own country once. I was both the ruler and the ruled. I wish there were other ways to let you know how my father's morning face looks like. Handsome.