~ an urban vignette ~

Old Black man sat bundled up in the sun with a ragged, cardboard sign propped up on his knees begging for help. He sat on the sidewalk with his back to the brick building of the Walgreens drugstore. The sidewalk was stained with gum. Torn candy wrappers and cigarette packs and bottle tops and wadded up tissues littered the area next to the store and out in the parking lot next to a line of trees and bushes. A dusty Subaru Crosstrek with a mud-encrusted mountain bike locked on top sat in the back of the lot. Some traveler looking for a place to pull over and nap before pushing on to the next adventure. The old gentleman sitting on the sidewalk wore a large, helmet-like hat with big, fuzzy earflaps. The outside of the hat was a dark-grey, and the fuzzy fur on the inside was an orangey yellow. He never spoke. Nor did I. All kinds of humans ambled by, either lost in their own worlds or staring all around on the look out for crazed, desperate folks lacking emotional self-control but possessing guns, knives, syringes, and drugs. 

My prescriptions were ready for pick-up. As I walked across the parking lot to enter the store, the Walgreens in Shoreline immediately north of the Seattle border, a car almost ran over the sidewalk and into the old guy sitting silently with his big, Elmer Fudd hat on. A sedan with WA plates lurched in from Aurora Avenue, slammed into the high curb of the Walgreens sidewalk, bounced with a jolt, and stop. Was a hard park. The beggar man on the sidewalk didn’t even seem to flinch. Maybe he wasn’t all aware. Or maybe he was astutely aware. Continue reading →