Move Along

He was tall and lanky, usually wore too many layers of clothes, and had a distinct odor. However, when he found a likely corner, the musician came out! He had a violin, which he called a “fiddle” to others, but had his own pet name for her. The long white unkempt beard was pushed back and he played. City people rarely stop, but they would for him. The crowd would wonder why he wasn’t in some concert hall. They left him money.

He always saw them first, and this time wasn’t any different. It wasn't like they made any effort to be sneaky. He picked up his case, pocketed the donations, and packed up his instrument. It had happened so often, he was quite quick at making his exits.

“Clarence!” The first officer said loudly as he crossed the street. “Hold on there.”

“I’m moving along!” He replied. “No need to bother!”

“Wait!” But Clarence was already moving. He ducked around a corner and used an alley.

The old man with his case waited, watched a few men pass, then ducked into the side door of the neighborhood library. The staff and regular patrons knew Clarence had arrived fairly quickly, his interesting smell preceded him. He slipped into a stack, looking for a place to stash his instrument for a moment. It was too late. The projectile struck him squarely in the back.

“Hey!” He yelled. “That hurt!”
“I hope it did!” The officer said.
“You threw a book at me!”
“Yes, yes I did. I hope the judge does, too.” They both laughed.

The officer slipped a couple bills into the wrinkled hand. He reminded the old man of the deal, he would stay out of the precinct for at least two weeks. They didn’t shake hands, and Clarence headed off. The next precinct would move him on almost exactly like this one had done. It wasn't much, but he found a way to make it work.

The real shame, of course, was the talent that went unrealized.


(arrest musician library)