Tuesday, August 28, 2018

The sign feels good in my hands. I hold it midway down the sides. It’s very light. I’ve never dropped it or had anyone passing by bump it out of my hands. When I first started holding it six or seven years ago--I forget exactly how long it’s been--a menacing-looking guy, in his early 40s I’d say, tried to act tough and would mumble something dismissive of the sign's message and of me as he marched by. He once called me the illegitimate son of Bill Clinton. I sometimes thought maybe he would knock the sign that bothered him so out of my hands or push me into the slow-moving rush hour traffic going by right next to me. I didn’t see him for a long time; then a few months ago he walked by me without acknowledging me. But you could feel his look even as kept his eyes straight ahead.

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