They called him Crain. Crackheads in the park called him C-rain. Each time they say it with the same vigor they had when they started. They were smoking cigarettes, pockets full of change on their way to a CoinStar machine, because no dealer wants to mess with change. That would be a fruitless trip, but with that hard in hand they can make it the night. Crain weaved back and forth through crowds. Hipsters on bicycles wearing their bicycle shorts disgusted him. He couldn't understand how they would willingly dress up like that when they have the afternoon off. The crowds of tourists slid by, like a fish going upstream he hobbled and hopped his way around people in wheelchairs and kids in strollers.
It started going bad when he felt like he was the center of attention for a moment. He started finding a rhythm with his movement and started making his "excuse me"'s and "pardons" go in time with his movements. He started adding in well coordinated and efficient and well timed movements. Past the ladies walking their dogs and by the old people with groceries he whirled and spun. He felt theatrical. People started noticing him coming and couldn't conceal their smiles. He picked a flower from the courthouse planters, he skipped forward whirling around a blue flower in the air like a love-sick madman. He saw a pretty girl as he was spinning and handed her the flower, she hesitated, still walking forward trying not to smile. She slowed to a stop and he placed the flower on the ground in front of her and said "pardon me", and gave a smile. He jumped up, spun around and started strutting forward shaking his body side to side with enthusiasm.
People had stopped and started watching this man in a dirty coat, holey gloves, with ragged hair and a dirty face. Some people speculated he had just won the lottery. As he approached a fountain he jumped onto the ledge and drank from the angel that was spitting into the shell where he stood. He spit the water into the air above his face and let it spill back onto him. He let out a yell. "YEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH"
Everyone looked at him and backed away. He made a face at a little girl and she almost cried immediately. Luckily he was at the liquor store and spun inside leaving his spectators behind, knowing he was stopping in just the kind of place they thought he might be dancing off to. He bought a bottle with crisp bills.
* * *
"Two-hundred fuckin' dollars per page she said"
Crain was talking to an older man. The two looked like they could be brothers. Sitting together you could see the other man had years in his eyes beyond that of a lot of men. He would be the father to every man he met. It wasn't just a show, the man had seen the road. He had seen generations of road, of the country, of the people in the world. He had no new left inside of him. He might get red faced if he ever had a 5 star treatment.
"you have hundreds of those papers, how many could she want?" the man replied.
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