random thoughts about a man without legs

the car's muffler buzzes like it has a little kid's lips. and as it approaches, its lips flap louder and louder. and the spit sprays everywhere against the underpass, bouncing off the embankment and pretty much making the sound two or three times as loud as it would be in open space. it is irrigating the concrete landscape.

and i turn, hesitatingly towards the traveling machine, to see it come quickly, losing its line, and veering off to the curb, and headed right for the sidewalk, right for me.

the human mind can paint a picture of something by just hearing it. and before i saw the driver, the passengers, and the oxidized and pealing green paint, i more or less had an idea of what i would see once i looked up.

that moment is frozen in my mind like a hand print into wet cement, even though it happened in the blink of an eye, like the changing of a channel. it's the constant reflection of the sun in the chrome bumper, and the wide eyes and open mouth of the middle aged woman behind the wheel. it's the moment by moment rehearsal of that split second within that drives me mad, that keeps me hidden, behind the curtains of a dark apartment, on the first floor, in the absolute worst part of town...