Читать книгу Every Wickedness - Susan Thistlethwaite - Страница 12

Good morning street!

The street wakes up.

I wake up the street.

Don’t run Alisha!

I wave at the bus to wait;

She makes it.

Alisha’s grandpa waves at me,

Taps his cane twice,

And makes his way back home.

“A Good Morning”

Charlie Bruin, #876

StreetWise

Thursday, May 18, 8:00 a.m.

He shivered in the cold, damp morning air.

StreetWise!

It was an okay day. The sun was creeping up the street like it hoped it could sneak up behind him and yell, “Gotcha!” Fat chance of that. Just hurry up sun. Warm my street and warm my feet. Ha! Another poem. He’d written poems at the workshop. It was amazing. Not supposed to hafta rhyme. No more “Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.” Blue, you. That’s a rhyme. Don’t hafta rhyme. You can just put down what you’re thinking. Yeah. Okay. But he liked blue, you, street, feet. More like a song. But songs didn’t hafta rhyme anymore either. He sighed.

StreetWise!

The train was just letting out and the steady tramp, tramp, tramp of morning commuters’ feet made the street wake up.

He sold a couple of papers. No big deal. Easy sell these morning commuters. Still wakin’ up. Didn’t talk much.

A couple of kids came by, going the other way, toward the school around the corner. One tall, skinny, dark-skinned kid, not a black, another kind, dug in his pocket and pulled out some bills. Bought a paper. His friends raced on into the little store next to the copy shop—shrieking even before they got their sugar. Sugar’s bad for kids, Mama’d always said that. Makes ‘em wild. But this dark kid. No sugar for him, he’d bought a paper. Didn’t say nothin’, just stood there till his friends ran back out. Then they all moved off toward the school like they was joined at the hip.

You see anything, everything on the street.

Couple of regulars came by. Said hi, catch you next time.

Was okay.

A campus cop came by, rode a bicycle. Looked like a student, young, shiny brown hair. Glasses. But a uniform. The bicycle cop was mean and looked through him like he was invisible. Like he was wearing that cape the Harry Potter kid had. They’d showed that movie at the shelter one night. Scary flying things. He shivered.

He watched the cop who couldn’t see him. Bicycle cop crossed over the street, headed to the campus. Cut through two parked cars, for Pete’s sake. Didn’t cross at the crosswalk. Cops don’t think they hafta follow the rules. No sir, no sir.

StreetWise!

The train people had passed. Next train in a few minutes.

He watched the young cop some more. Got off his bike, talking to a student. He watched more closely. Was the student in trouble? Nah. They were both laughing. Shook hands. Okay. Okay. Nothing to worry about there.

StreetWise!

The sparkle shoes lady turned the corner and came down the block toward him. He squinted. He thought it was her, but where was her sparkle dress? Where were her sparkle shoes? Today she was all in black, her long blonde hair pulled back like an old school teacher. Well hell. But it was her. He looked carefully. Couldn’t be two of ‘em that tall with blond hair. From the neck up she was still more than okay, ‘cept she did look sad. And the black dress. She didn’t look like Glenda now. No sir. All that black she could be the Wicked Witch of the West. He hated black. Funerals and cold meat and people crying. He shuddered. Street needed to pick up. He looked at his own shoes.

He took a quick look up, hoping the Glenda/Wicked Witch had gone, but she’d stopped. Met somebody. Black woman. A campus cop, her uniform kinda tight on her short round body. Kind round all around. He smiled at the rhyme. Maybe he’d use it. Poems could rhyme if you wanted to, right? Kinda round all around cop even had round hair. She only came up to Glenda/Wicked Witch’s chest. Looked like Abbott and Costello. ‘Who’s on first?’ He chuckled. But he still didn’t like all that black. Good. They were moving down the street. He looked back at his shoes until they passed out of sight.

StreetWise!

Good. The next train had come.

Oh shit! That guy was hangin’ around the station. No good panhandler. Hustler. Scared people. Bad for business. He put on his meanest face as the guy walked by tryin’ to hustle a commuter. Givin’ him a hard luck story. Commuter didn’t even look up. No dice. He’d heard it all before. We’d all heard it all before. Hustler gave up.

He smiled.