Rough Draft Excerpt

Harry

The sky is bright today. I am not too sure if this is intensified by my cars missing sun visor or not, but it sure is bright. I like days like this...as long as I have sunglasses. Bright days like these, along with the popcorn clouds give me something to do while driving. There is a slight breeze today and it is pushing the clouds south; which is the direction I am going at the moment. The sun is casting shadows from the clouds down onto the road. I am finding myself chasing them as they go. I speed up, chasing a cloud, the wind picks up and I have to play catch up. I am not too sure what this is doing for my mileage, but it sure does pass the time as I am driving.

“In point three miles, exit right, then turn left.”

Wow, I forgot that was on. I wonder how Harry the Mormon is? I haven't seen him in a couple of days. I'll have to call him when I get back.

I don't know why I just thought of Harry.

O.K. what was I just thinking about. Clouds, driving, left turn that I just missed....I can turn around...oh, GPS...A couple of days ago I had a talk with Harry about getting a GPS. The conversation makes me smile now, but I remember being a little aggravated.

I usually see Harry every other day, but we have made it a point to get together for coffee at Starbucks every Tuesday. Last Tuesday I had been waiting almost an hour for our weekly meeting when Harry finally showed up. “Sorry I am late. I got lost,” he said as he threw his bag down by the table and, in one smooth seamless motion walked to the counter to order.

Harry is always getting lost. Harry is directionally challenged. If there is ever a drug for it Harry would be the poster boy....I smile thinking of the commercial and all listed side effects. I can hear the announcer, “side effects include, vomiting, blindness and in rare instances inter-cranial bleeding leading to death.” I picture some middle aged, former hand model trying his chops at acting coming on the screen acting like some real person carrying on with life oblivious to the camera, then turning towards the camera and saying, “I may be dying, but thanks to Direcstra I know where I'm going.” and then totally going back to the bad acting that is supposed to make me think they are real people.

I continued the conversation with Harry as he orders his triple mocha latte with non fat milk, “You really need to do something about this late thing Harry.”

“What do you mean?” He asked as if it were his first time hearing about this.

“Have you ever thought about getting a GPS?” I asked, knowing that Harry would be the most punctual person if he knew where he was going.

Not too long ago Harry had told me about his two year mission with the Mormon church. He confided that he had lost count of how many partners he had gone through during that time simply because he insisted on leading the way to prospective homes. This probably wouldn't have been a bad idea had Harry not been sent to rural Illinois. I am sure those poor souls got tired riding their bikes on long dusty roads occasionally stopping on the road only to hear Harry say, “It's gotta be around here somewhere,”.

But with age comes wisdom, and Harry, along with all his friends, know better than to trust him when it comes to directions.

I'll have to call him when I get back.

I wonder why people question why I am hanging out with Harry the Mormon? I like the guy. He's always late, and gets lost all of the time, but he is nice. He doesn't try to convert me, and I don't talk to him, too much, about the Bible. Sometimes I think he knows the Bible better than me though. What is really cool, and it is probably cool only to me is that he lets me introduce him as Harry the Mormon. Most people don't like to be introduced like that.

That reminds me of this guy in town named Bob Williams. Bob is African American. The only African American in town. For a long time everyone called him Black Bob. I was never sure why they did that because there are a few Bobs in town, including one Bob that is pasty white and they never called him Pasty White Bob as far as I know. I never called him Black Bob. I called him Mr. Williams because he was my dad's age. One year at the fair Mr. Williams, an accomplished musician by the way, was waiting just off stage to perform. The MC introduced him as Black Bob Williams. Mr Williams walked to the piano, sat down and pulled the microphone over and said, “My name is Bob Williams. You all know that. For years you have called me Black Bob and I want to say that I do not like that. My name is Bob..Just Bob.”

Bob waited a few seconds and then started playing.

I am sure there is no parallel here. Being a Mormon is not a race. Yet for whatever reason my head is making that connection today.

As far as the rest of my conversation with Harry went, he agreed that he had indeed thought of buying a GPS. When we parted ways that day he was on his way to purchase one. At that moment I made a mental wager with myself. I bet he gets one. I bet he doesn't. If I win I get ten bucks. If lose I still win because I bet myself.

Sometimes I am amazed at my mad logic skills.

I gotta call Harry when I get back.

I manage to turn around and head back towards my sisters new house.

"In five hundred feet, you have reached your destination, on right.”

Rough Draft Excerpt

Harry

The sky is bright today. I am not too sure if this is intensified by my cars missing sun visor or not, but it sure is bright. I like days like this...as long as I have sunglasses. Bright days like these, along with the popcorn clouds give me something to do while driving. There is a slight breeze today and it is pushing the clouds south; which is the direction I am going at the moment. The sun is casting shadows from the clouds down onto the road. I am finding myself chasing them as they go. I speed up, chasing a cloud, the wind picks up and I have to play catch up. I am not too sure what this is doing for my mileage, but it sure does pass the time as I am driving.

“In point three miles, exit right, then turn left.”

Wow, I forgot that was on. I wonder how Harry the Mormon is? I haven't seen him in a couple of days. I'll have to call him when I get back.

I don't know why I just thought of Harry.

O.K. what was I just thinking about. Clouds, driving, left turn that I just missed....I can turn around...oh, GPS...A couple of days ago I had a talk with Harry about getting a GPS. The conversation makes me smile now, but I remember being a little aggravated.

I usually see Harry every other day, but we have made it a point to get together for coffee at Starbucks every Tuesday. Last Tuesday I had been waiting almost an hour for our weekly meeting when Harry finally showed up. “Sorry I am late. I got lost,” he said as he threw his bag down by the table and, in one smooth seamless motion walked to the counter to order.

Harry is always getting lost. Harry is directionally challenged. If there is ever a drug for it Harry would be the poster boy....I smile thinking of the commercial and all listed side effects. I can hear the announcer, “side effects include, vomiting, blindness and in rare instances inter-cranial bleeding leading to death.” I picture some middle aged, former hand model trying his chops at acting coming on the screen acting like some real person carrying on with life oblivious to the camera, then turning towards the camera and saying, “I may be dying, but thanks to Direcstra I know where I'm going.” and then totally going back to the bad acting that is supposed to make me think they are real people.

I continued the conversation with Harry as he orders his triple mocha latte with non fat milk, “You really need to do something about this late thing Harry.”

“What do you mean?” He asked as if it were his first time hearing about this.

“Have you ever thought about getting a GPS?” I asked, knowing that Harry would be the most punctual person if he knew where he was going.

Not too long ago Harry had told me about his two year mission with the Mormon church. He confided that he had lost count of how many partners he had gone through during that time simply because he insisted on leading the way to prospective homes. This probably wouldn't have been a bad idea had Harry not been sent to rural Illinois. I am sure those poor souls got tired riding their bikes on long dusty roads occasionally stopping on the road only to hear Harry say, “It's gotta be around here somewhere,”.

But with age comes wisdom, and Harry, along with all his friends, know better than to trust him when it comes to directions.

I'll have to call him when I get back.

I wonder why people question why I am hanging out with Harry the Mormon? I like the guy. He's always late, and gets lost all of the time, but he is nice. He doesn't try to convert me, and I don't talk to him, too much, about the Bible. Sometimes I think he knows the Bible better than me though. What is really cool, and it is probably cool only to me is that he lets me introduce him as Harry the Mormon. Most people don't like to be introduced like that.

That reminds me of this guy in town named Bob Williams. Bob is African American. The only African American in town. For a long time everyone called him Black Bob. I was never sure why they did that because there are a few Bobs in town, including one Bob that is pasty white and they never called him Pasty White Bob as far as I know. I never called him Black Bob. I called him Mr. Williams because he was my dad's age. One year at the fair Mr. Williams, an accomplished musician by the way, was waiting just off stage to perform. The MC introduced him as Black Bob Williams. Mr Williams walked to the piano, sat down and pulled the microphone over and said, “My name is Bob Williams. You all know that. For years you have called me Black Bob and I want to say that I do not like that. My name is Bob..Just Bob.”

Bob waited a few seconds and then started playing.

I am sure there is no parallel here. Being a Mormon is not a race. Yet for whatever reason my head is making that connection today.

As far as the rest of my conversation with Harry went, he agreed that he had indeed thought of buying a GPS. When we parted ways that day he was on his way to purchase one. At that moment I made a mental wager with myself. I bet he gets one. I bet he doesn't. If I win I get ten bucks. If lose I still win because I bet myself.

Sometimes I am amazed at my mad logic skills.

I gotta call Harry when I get back.

I manage to turn around and head back towards my sisters new house.

"In five hundred feet, you have reached your destination, on right.”

writing about thinking and thinking about writing.....

I have lots to think about and lots of time to think about it. Some of my earliest thoughts revolved around the superficial things in life. In the 1970's one thought involved getting real motorcycle handlebars for my Schwinn Stingray that I bought for five bucks. Heck, that bike was a thought. So was the five bucks, albeit a fleeting one.

So, with all my thinking about thinking I started thinking about what I like to think about most...what to write next. As a child I toyed with the idea Of being a writer. The only classes I would go to in high school were the ones that involved literature and composition. There was the occasional wood shop, or small engine repair detour, but for the most part I ditched all the classes I didn't like and attended the ones I did. The result of this method of education was never graduating from high school. I did finally get a diploma in the Army after they realized the let me in without one. Those were the easiest four months of my Army career.

A lot of writers have influenced me over the years. For a long time I would find myself trying to mimic some part of their style to make my own. Who knows, maybe I was successful in taking bits and pieces of style and made the perfect Frankenstein. Hopefully it wont kill you, just mildly bore instead. The thing is that I don't want to be those writers. They do, or did their job well. Nope, I wanna be me.

I have had stories going through my head because, as I stated earlier, I have lots of time to think. For a while I thought I wanted to write some sort of self help seven steps to a cleaner soul type of book, but recently discarded that idea after realizing I rarely clean my ears. I have started and restarted writing stories that have nothing to do with anything other than people and their stories. Most of it focusing on the absurd things that happen to me daily. In short, telling my story through the story of some guy, or groups of people that I made up. What they do depends largely on what people around me do. Writing what I know, and if I don't know you, don't worry. That is unless you happen to serve me coffee at Starbucks or something like that.

This particular thought on writing and thought got it's start here. It's a contest where one can win a trip for two to Portland, Oregon for a seminar on how to write about your life,and rewriting it to live the life you want to live. Donald Miller of Blue Like Jazz fame is putting it on. I like his writing, but I am not going to enter. Mostly because I think I have writing my life covered and Portland just doesn't seem like a destination point in my life. Sorry Portland. If it helps, you ain't missing much.

So, why do I bother to write about thinking, writing and a contest for a seminar that I am not going to? I am glad you asked. My whole reason for doing this is to sort of kick my self in the butt to write more. For the last year and a half I have written very little. I have attributed it to not having the time which really isn't true. Mostly I think I got burned out on what I was writing about and needed some new fodder. Gone are my thoughts about religion and spirituality. Instead I will think and write more about God and my relationship with Him and others and my relationship with them and Him. Mostly it will be through story, my story fictionalized to protect the innocent and those with good lawyers.

I will share some thoughts and pieces of these stories on this blog, on Facebook and hopefully in book form as time progresses. You are invited to be either entertained, or bored to death. Just remember that I am the messenger so don't shoot me...

writing about thinking and thinking about writing.....

I have lots to think about and lots of time to think about it. Some of my earliest thoughts revolved around the superficial things in life. In the 1970's one thought involved getting real motorcycle handlebars for my Schwinn Stingray that I bought for five bucks. Heck, that bike was a thought. So was the five bucks, albeit a fleeting one.

So, with all my thinking about thinking I started thinking about what I like to think about most...what to write next. As a child I toyed with the idea Of being a writer. The only classes I would go to in high school were the ones that involved literature and composition. There was the occasional wood shop, or small engine repair detour, but for the most part I ditched all the classes I didn't like and attended the ones I did. The result of this method of education was never graduating from high school. I did finally get a diploma in the Army after they realized the let me in without one. Those were the easiest four months of my Army career.

A lot of writers have influenced me over the years. For a long time I would find myself trying to mimic some part of their style to make my own. Who knows, maybe I was successful in taking bits and pieces of style and made the perfect Frankenstein. Hopefully it wont kill you, just mildly bore instead. The thing is that I don't want to be those writers. They do, or did their job well. Nope, I wanna be me.

I have had stories going through my head because, as I stated earlier, I have lots of time to think. For a while I thought I wanted to write some sort of self help seven steps to a cleaner soul type of book, but recently discarded that idea after realizing I rarely clean my ears. I have started and restarted writing stories that have nothing to do with anything other than people and their stories. Most of it focusing on the absurd things that happen to me daily. In short, telling my story through the story of some guy, or groups of people that I made up. What they do depends largely on what people around me do. Writing what I know, and if I don't know you, don't worry. That is unless you happen to serve me coffee at Starbucks or something like that.

This particular thought on writing and thought got it's start here. It's a contest where one can win a trip for two to Portland, Oregon for a seminar on how to write about your life,and rewriting it to live the life you want to live. Donald Miller of Blue Like Jazz fame is putting it on. I like his writing, but I am not going to enter. Mostly because I think I have writing my life covered and Portland just doesn't seem like a destination point in my life. Sorry Portland. If it helps, you ain't missing much.

So, why do I bother to write about thinking, writing and a contest for a seminar that I am not going to? I am glad you asked. My whole reason for doing this is to sort of kick my self in the butt to write more. For the last year and a half I have written very little. I have attributed it to not having the time which really isn't true. Mostly I think I got burned out on what I was writing about and needed some new fodder. Gone are my thoughts about religion and spirituality. Instead I will think and write more about God and my relationship with Him and others and my relationship with them and Him. Mostly it will be through story, my story fictionalized to protect the innocent and those with good lawyers.

I will share some thoughts and pieces of these stories on this blog, on Facebook and hopefully in book form as time progresses. You are invited to be either entertained, or bored to death. Just remember that I am the messenger so don't shoot me...

Thoughts While in the Starbucks Drive Thru

I am beginning to believe there is no such thing as a happy medium. No, I'm not talking about some happy nut case that claims to talk to famous dead people. Really, what's up with that anyway? Why do they claim to talk to famous people? If you want to convince me that you actually talk to dead folks then maybe you should talk to some dead guy who lived his life between a river cabin and a trailer park drinking like a fish and smoking like a coal fired power plant until one day dying from a massive myocardial infarction (I just reached my goal for placing the word infarction into a sentence) I would use the giddy grande (medium at Starbucks) to ask the dead dude if the excess was worth it.

Nope, the happy medium I am talking about is in the service we get each and every day. I long for the day where I can go into any store and get civil service. I go to one store, fast food joint or whatever and the person behind the counter barely looks up to acknowledge that I am there. Or, this is my favorite, they do look at me, but in a way that makes me feel like I just interrupted some deep thought that would have changed the world but will now forever be forgotten because they suffer from ADD and can't think past the last five seconds. Pardon me for thinking that your actual job description includes scanning my items and taking my money, a portion of which makes it into your wallet.

Sometimes I am such an imposition.

I guess I would be happy with consistency. If everywhere I went I got consistently bad service, I would be able to accept that. I would even throw in with attitude and a can of corn at the clerks head. Okay, I wouldn't really throw the can of corn, a loaf of bread maybe, but not corn.

So I am in the drive thru at Starbucks. I pulled up to the speaker and get ready to order.

“Good evening. And how are you tonight?” says the singsong voice in the speaker.

I am thrown off by the slightly effeminate voice and before I can come up with something witty to say back I reply, “I am doing well. How are you tonight?”

Singsong says, “I am doing well, thanks for asking. How may I help you tonight?”

Before I go any further I want to say that at this point in this man love conversation I want to say something like, “My feet hurt, can you rub them? That would really be a big help,” Instead I order a Venti Pike's Place.

I get to the window, pay for my coffee...more pleasantries..ignore the tip box and leave with hot coffee in cup holder.

That bit of uncomfortable human interaction really bothered me. I don't know what that says about me. Hmm, on second thought, yes I do. What bothered me was that the guy didn't seem genuine. The clerk at the grocery store is genuine. They genuinely don't want to be there and it shows. The barista, or is that barister, was obviously following a sales technique that some out of touch Starbucks executive thinks will sell more coffee. Do you know what sells more coffee? Addiction...

I think that the happy medium that I long for would be a real interaction between two people. When I order a coffee, buy corn or talk to a real live person in India pretending to be in Newark I want small talk. I want to do what I set out to do and not feel the biting glare of contempt, or feel creeped out. I want service, nothing more, nothing less. That would be a refreshing, happy medium

Thoughts While in the Starbucks Drive Thru

I am beginning to believe there is no such thing as a happy medium. No, I'm not talking about some happy nut case that claims to talk to famous dead people. Really, what's up with that anyway? Why do they claim to talk to famous people? If you want to convince me that you actually talk to dead folks then maybe you should talk to some dead guy who lived his life between a river cabin and a trailer park drinking like a fish and smoking like a coal fired power plant until one day dying from a massive myocardial infarction (I just reached my goal for placing the word infarction into a sentence) I would use the giddy grande (medium at Starbucks) to ask the dead dude if the excess was worth it.

Nope, the happy medium I am talking about is in the service we get each and every day. I long for the day where I can go into any store and get civil service. I go to one store, fast food joint or whatever and the person behind the counter barely looks up to acknowledge that I am there. Or, this is my favorite, they do look at me, but in a way that makes me feel like I just interrupted some deep thought that would have changed the world but will now forever be forgotten because they suffer from ADD and can't think past the last five seconds. Pardon me for thinking that your actual job description includes scanning my items and taking my money, a portion of which makes it into your wallet.

Sometimes I am such an imposition.

I guess I would be happy with consistency. If everywhere I went I got consistently bad service, I would be able to accept that. I would even throw in with attitude and a can of corn at the clerks head. Okay, I wouldn't really throw the can of corn, a loaf of bread maybe, but not corn.

So I am in the drive thru at Starbucks. I pulled up to the speaker and get ready to order.

“Good evening. And how are you tonight?” says the singsong voice in the speaker.

I am thrown off by the slightly effeminate voice and before I can come up with something witty to say back I reply, “I am doing well. How are you tonight?”

Singsong says, “I am doing well, thanks for asking. How may I help you tonight?”

Before I go any further I want to say that at this point in this man love conversation I want to say something like, “My feet hurt, can you rub them? That would really be a big help,” Instead I order a Venti Pike's Place.

I get to the window, pay for my coffee...more pleasantries..ignore the tip box and leave with hot coffee in cup holder.

That bit of uncomfortable human interaction really bothered me. I don't know what that says about me. Hmm, on second thought, yes I do. What bothered me was that the guy didn't seem genuine. The clerk at the grocery store is genuine. They genuinely don't want to be there and it shows. The barista, or is that barister, was obviously following a sales technique that some out of touch Starbucks executive thinks will sell more coffee. Do you know what sells more coffee? Addiction...

I think that the happy medium that I long for would be a real interaction between two people. When I order a coffee, buy corn or talk to a real live person in India pretending to be in Newark I want small talk. I want to do what I set out to do and not feel the biting glare of contempt, or feel creeped out. I want service, nothing more, nothing less. That would be a refreshing, happy medium

Thoughts While in the Chip Aisle

You can't teach an old dog new tricks nor can you trick him with slick marketing.

My wife says that I was old and set in my ways before my time. I say I know what I like so why change it.

I became aware of this many years ago when juice companies started blending juices together. As I look back however, I can see the first rumblings of curmudgeonry when Coke came out with New Coke. My question whenever a company tries something new with something that has worked well for all these years is: WHY?

Of course the question is rhetorical. I know that the real reason they change things up is to boost sales of the same product by changing it slightly because really, the only reason a company is in business is to make mo money, mo money, mo money. Current business models don't allow for the board of directors to be content with what they have; which is a consistent cash flow.

If you ask me they waste more money on advertising the new products instead of relying on the brand name that has been trusted for decades. Most, if not all companies, do this. However, for sake of time I will use Doritos as an example. It always amazes me just how big supermarkets have become. Our local bodega of sundries actually has an aisle that is close to 150 feet long with one side devoted to nothing but chips. They have potato chips ruffled, flat, bbq, sour cream and onion, salt and vinegar. Oh and then there are pretzels honey mustard, regular salty, low salt. But what caught my eye the other day were the Doritos.

Now Doritos have been around for roughly 45 years. For the longest time the only flavor I remember was the nacho cheese flavor. Cool ranch came along later on, but that was fine because they didn't delve into anything else and still made money. Good for them. What I noticed this time was that there are like a bazillion new Doritos flavors!

I am a simple man. I like things to stay simple. If something ain't broke, don't fix it. What I saw that day sent my head spinning like Linda Blair's in the Exorcist. There they were, right next to the nacho cheese and cool ranch, cheeseburger and taco flavored Doritos! I get the connection, sort of, with the taco flavor. I am at a loss when it comes to cheeseburger flavored corn triangles. I am pretty sure that if I had a hankering for a cheeseburger then I wouldn't be reaching for a bag of cheeseburger flavored Doritos. I do admit that I have tasted these chips after they somehow made their way into my home. I will give them credit for making them taste like a cheeseburger. Although the thought of how they do it scares me. I am not alone in saying I wont buy them. They will fall by the wayside and something new like fish taco flavor or something equally disgusting will take it's place.

Am I living in a dream world, or am I right in saying that I remember life being a little more black and white? We used to get just apple juice, actors were actors, not people we looked to for sage advice. Guys were guys, and girls were girls. People talked to each other face to face. The English language wasn't yet reduced to a bunch of acronyms and emoticons. The other day my daughter had to leave the room and actually said, “BRB,” as she left. Really, as I get older will I be able to communicate with anyone?

When I think about it I guess I don't mind too much that things are changing and being mixed together. I just wish it were a little bit easier to find my apple juice. For the sake of texting space I don't mind the acronimical use of language, even when it causes me to reply, “huh? wdym(what do you mean)” I just want to have a conversation once in a while. As for Doritos, I will stick with nacho cheese.

Thoughts While in the Chip Aisle

You can't teach an old dog new tricks nor can you trick him with slick marketing.

My wife says that I was old and set in my ways before my time. I say I know what I like so why change it.

I became aware of this many years ago when juice companies started blending juices together. As I look back however, I can see the first rumblings of curmudgeonry when Coke came out with New Coke. My question, whenever a company tries something new with something that has worked well for all these years is: WHY?

Of course the question is rhetorical. I know that the real reason they change things up is to boost sales of the same product by changing it slightly because really, the only reason a company is in business is to make mo money, mo money, mo money. Current business models don't allow for the board of directors to be content with what they have -- which is a consistent cash flow.

If you ask me, they waste more money on advertising the new products instead of relying on the brand name that has been trusted for decades. Most, if not all companies, do this. However, for sake of time I will use Doritos as an example. It always amazes me just how big supermarkets have become. Our local bodega of sundries actually has an aisle that is close to 150 feet long with one side devoted to nothing but chips. They have potato chips ruffled, flat, bbq, sour cream and onion, salt and vinegar. Oh and then there are pretzels honey mustard, regular salty, low salt. But what caught my eye the other day were the Doritos.

Now Doritos have been around for roughly 45 years. For the longest time the only flavor I remember was the nacho cheese flavor. Cool ranch came along later on, but that was fine because they didn't delve into anything else and still made money. Good for them. What I noticed this time was that there are like a bazillion new Doritos flavors!

I am a simple man. I like things to stay simple. If something ain't broke, don't fix it. What I saw that day sent my head spinning like Linda Blair's in the Exorcist. There they were, right next to the nacho cheese and cool ranch, a big bag of cheeseburger and taco flavored Doritos!

 I get the connection, sort of, with the taco flavor. I am at a loss when it comes to cheeseburger flavored corn triangles. I am pretty sure that if I had a hankering for a cheeseburger then I wouldn't be reaching for a bag of cheeseburger flavored Doritos. I do admit that I have tasted these chips after they somehow made their way into my home. I will give them credit for making them taste like a cheeseburger. Although the thought of how they do it scares me. I am not alone in saying I wont buy them. They will fall by the wayside and something new like fish taco flavor or something equally disgusting will take it's place.

Am I living in a dream world, or am I right in saying that I remember life being a little more black and white? We used to get just apple juice, actors were actors, not people we looked to for sage advice. Guys were guys, and girls were girls. People talked to each other face to face. The English language wasn't yet reduced to a bunch of acronyms and emoticons. The other day my daughter had to leave the room and actually said, “BRB,” as she left. Really, as I get older will I be able to communicate with anyone?

When I think about it I guess I don't mind too much that things are changing and being mixed together. I just wish it were a little bit easier to find my apple juice.

For the sake of texting space I don't mind the acronimical use of language, even when it causes me to reply, “huh? wdym(what do you mean)” I just want to have a conversation once in a while. As for Doritos, I will stick with nacho cheese.

Death of a Rat Fink

The crowd formed around the near lifeless body.

“Wow, how do you think he got here?” asked one guy.

“I dunno, I saw a couple of guys in the alley.” said another.

“Homeless guys. I've seen them before. They stand on the median holding signs saying they are homeless vets, but they don't like animals. Saw one kick a dog the other day,” said one guy amid stares of disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I thought vets took a hypocritical oath or something.”

“No, I meant are you seriously that stupid?” Some in the crowd chuckled. So did the guy laying in the street. It was mistaken for a moan of pain. They say laughter is the best medicine, but it wasn't helping this guy.

The crowd was growing. Some pointed. Many turned their heads away at first look, but quickly turned back as if the guy was going to suddenly disappear. The man on the ground managed to get out a faint, “Help,” but it was drowned out by the speculative conversation.

“What should we do?”

“Anybody know CPR?”

“He doesn't need CPR. He needs a doctor.”

“Anybody know the number for 911?” The crowd shifted their eyes from the dying man to the genius. There was a momentary silence, as the soon to be dead man whispered, “911..”

As quick as eyes were initially diverted from the dying man the crowd returned to their talking, only now the conversations had nothing to do with the man on the ground.

“I got it on the Plaza.”

“And then she said....”

“ I think it's going to rain..”

“My grandma was a nun..”

And so on....

The two homeless vets walked up to the crowd. They were talking to each other.
“He had it coming to him. Sorry to see him go like this.”

“Yeah, I wish it could have been different.”

“He was a rat fink. You just can't do that and expect nothing to happen.”

“I know, just wish it could've been different.”

Sirens were heard in the distance. Apparently genius, after getting the number to 911, called it. It was too late. During all the banal conversation the guy died, right there in the middle of the street.

The paramedics arrived, checked the guy over, lifted the lifeless body on the stretcher, and loaded him into the ambulance. The two homeless vets ducked back into the alley. The crowd disbursed as the ambulance left the scene, and life on that street went back to normal.

Death of a Rat Fink

The crowd formed around the near lifeless body.

“Wow, how do you think he got here?” asked one guy.

“I dunno, I saw a couple of guys in the alley.” said another.

“Homeless guys. I've seen them before. They stand on the median holding signs saying they are homeless vets, but they don't like animals. Saw one kick a dog the other day,” said one guy amid stares of disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I thought vets took a hypocritical oath or something.”

“No, I meant are you seriously that stupid?” Some in the crowd chuckled. So did the guy laying in the street. It was mistaken for a moan of pain. They say laughter is the best medicine, but it wasn't helping this guy.

The crowd was growing. Some pointed. Many turned their heads away at first look, but quickly turned back as if the guy was going to suddenly disappear. The man on the ground managed to get out a faint, “Help,” but it was drowned out by the speculative conversation.

“What should we do?”

“Anybody know CPR?”

“He doesn't need CPR. He needs a doctor.”

“Anybody know the number for 911?” The crowd shifted their eyes from the dying man to the genius. There was a momentary silence, as the soon to be dead man whispered, “911..”

As quick as eyes were initially diverted from the dying man the crowd returned to their talking, only now the conversations had nothing to do with the man on the ground.

“I got it on the Plaza.”

“And then she said....”

“ I think it's going to rain..”

“My grandma was a nun..”

And so on....

The two homeless vets walked up to the crowd. They were talking to each other.
“He had it coming to him. Sorry to see him go like this.”

“Yeah, I wish it could have been different.”

“He was a rat fink. You just can't do that and expect nothing to happen.”

“I know, just wish it could've been different.”

Sirens were heard in the distance. Apparently genius, after getting the number to 911, called it. It was too late. During all the banal conversation the guy died, right there in the middle of the street.

The paramedics arrived, checked the guy over, lifted the lifeless body on the stretcher, and loaded him into the ambulance. The two homeless vets ducked back into the alley. The crowd disbursed as the ambulance left the scene, and life on that street went back to normal.