Street Blast

Just outside the door was stood a man.  I would not have noticed him had he not spoken as I walked past. 

“I’ve seen what you’ve said”, he said. 

I tend not to hear people with whom I have no reason to expect to talk, but when it comes as an encroachment on my freedom, living in cities has taught me to keep an ear open.  “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you”.  I kept walking.

“Can you help me out?”  This is not what he said initially.  What is it that he wants me to do?  Does he want me to admit that the money I spent in the store should have been his?  Should I fear that any money I have is now his target?  This is standard city fair, but it’s getting on my nerves.  I’m just about ready to kill the next person who asks me “can you spare some change?”  Not only do they walk into my personal space,  they attempt to make me feel guilty because I am not on skid row yet.  How invasive is it?  Year after year, and it’s political too.  ‘You look wealthy, surely you didn’t deserve it’.  Like the characters from “Why, You Reckon’”, I’m just about ready to let loose and tell the Democrats what I think of them.  I’ll take my chances with the jury.  But I don’t think  he wants a fight like that; he just doesn’t know what to do.  I can sympathize.

Nobody ever actually helps anybody between the system and the streets.  I’m tired of it.  I’m tired of the same old excuses year after year.  I’m tired of the Mexican President coming here and lying about how they can’t keep track of who is and who is not a citizen of Mexico.  You have nine months to figure that out in your village, and you want to turn around and say you care?  It’s worse with the men, trying to play their game.  This week the family name is Lopez, next week it’s Sanchez, the week after that it’s both, and then it’s reversed, and then it’s Smith, and after that Smith Jones.  Sit down; but you can’t sit down on the street.  It’s the dirty little secret the drug companies keep, and everybody from the Mayor to the police say it doesn’t exist.  There’s no outreach for the dead; if you’re sliding from someplace solid to someplace paved, whether it’s because of the drugs you took or the chemistry of your body, you’re a goner.

“Can you help me out”?  I don’t know what he means by that.  Money?  I don’t have money for you, I barely have money for myself, for my rice and beans dinner and the glass of wine that substitutes for the prescription pain killers I should be getting to kill the pain, but am not because I haven’t seen a doctor since Reagan was President, back when Democrats decided to abuse everyone in order to make their point about Nationalized Health care.  What is it you want me to help you with?  I don’t think he was being political.  He wants money.  He wants money just like the guy who threatened me the same way last week.  That guy said, “you gonna buy the place”?  I would’ve clocked him also, but I’ve still got a measure of restraint.  I hated  panhandlers in the 1930’s too.  There’s something that can be done, but folks in power still want to argue about who is going to get credit for doing it. 

I sometimes wonder if it ain’t a culture thing, ‘get the simpleton to give me his money’, all the while the bad dude has more money in his pocket than my combined assets are valued by the county assessor.  I know that every Democratic President since Roosevelt, except Kennedy, offered spoils from the tax hikes to the poor folks, if they registered to be Democrats.  What kind of culture do they come from anyway?

Maybe I’m too self reliant.  Maybe I should start harassing Congressman and Women when they walk out of their offices, demanding all the money in their wallets and purses, all the land from her to the Sunset, and all the bullets ever manufactured.  I know I’m going to see these people on the streets if I get there.  I know they’ll decide whether they’ve seen me before and whether they want to teach me how to survive without getting sicker than I’ll already be by then.  I know I’ll listen to them then like I listen to them now, with suspicion, waiting for their violent tendencies to rise to  the surface where nobody wins.  I know I’ll keep walking then as I am now.

As I walk away, he turns to the next set of people getting out of a car, “can you help me out?” he says.  The echo still rings,  “I see what you’ve said” …