just as the forecast warned, it poured when i got off at the bus stop nearest the strange man's place late this afternoon. he had to fetch me with a substantial umbrella.
as he came, an escalade passed by. a window rolled down and a blubbery faced man yelled, "you goin somewhere, dawg?" the strange man yelled back, "we aight." the suv rolled on, its shiny black skin stained by the gray of the rain.
"who was that?" i asked him as our elevator creaked up. "the block bleeder," he said. "the who?" i asked. "he the big man selling stuff on the block." "what stuff?" "you know, 226, the shit." "oh, drugs, you mean." he rolled his eyes like i blasphemed the holy spirit.
waiting for our chinese delivery, i asked him if he still does business with the bleeder. "nah, i'm all clean," he said. wolfing down his pork lo mein while watching tv, the strange man's face was bathed in the yellow of the newscast. done with his noodles, he went to the sink. from afar, he still looked a washed out yellow, slightly jaundiced.
i pray it's just my eyes. and not how i really look at things. for in my mind now, the strange man is soaked by the ashiness of the rain, his face slightly dimmed by the tincture of old shadows. god rain reason on me. wash away this refusal to release this man from the color of his past.
