Walking on Sunshine

Living on the streets is no easy task. Mildew, the stares and of course the degradation one has to deal with. Some do this by choice, some by necessity and some because there is no other option and no where else to go. The latter two you will find most often busking or begging for enough money to get their next fix , the next bottle or the next meal. Out of the few who want to live on the street there is one who is a legend across every street in North America.

No one knows his real name, or even what he looks like. In fact there is a good chance that not even he knows these things anymore. It is often said he is dressed in a brown and grey trench coat with rags tied around for warmth, the filth of years caked on him. He wanders city to city, by foot, bus, or thumb for the entertainment of others and himself. When not planning his next diversion or looking for his next target, the more serious side of our hero comes out. He will be creeping alleyways, saving the poor and downtrodden souls of the inner city from the evils of the meaner side of poverty.

Never malicious, his light hearted pranks keep the citizens of the city he is in on their toes for the week/month/year he is there. Fake vomit, a lemonade stand that serves vinegar and a busker that sings off key show tunes are a few of his amusements. To the embarrassment of many, his weapons of choice against the too serious can be seen everywhere. Sometimes you will see a misspelled piece of graffiti that has been corrected for grammar (poorly), you know he has been to see you, even if you don’t notice him.

Tonight we find him outside a theatre hiding in the shadows between the stairs to the entrance and the wall beside. Never having seen any of the movies inside he has read enough reviews in the countless newspapers that make up his alley-nest to understand what is going on and more importantly who will be here tonight. The serious minded people will be here tonight, he thinks to himself, the ones easy to shock. They are the most fun to use in his games. A sense of anticipation fills him and is almost palpable in the air.

Waiting for the first couple or group to come up the steps to see their movie our hero pauses to study the breath he can now see in the night air. “Time to move on, on s s soon,” he mutters to himself, his voice a low growl from years breathing in the pollution of the heavily populated areas. In a few weeks it will be too cold to live on the streets in one of these northern cities. Someplace warmer, maybe by the ocean, his thoughts turn to the ease of seeing the pacific. “Maybe, maybe, maybe,” the low voice rumbles again.

He quiets himself as the first of his victims approach from the parking lot. The couple, unsuspecting of what is about to happen to them, continue walking and speak of the movie they are about to see. Several other people emerge from the parking lot and a crowd behind the first couple begins to form. Fifteen minutes before Showtime and things are about to get interesting.

They take the first steps up the stairs blind in their peripherals as most people are. The old man crouches closer to the darkness, hiding from them as best as he can. Our hero’s fun begins with the start of his prank. “Hey, you in the dress, ress. You dropped this!”
The people turn to see what happened and who the voice is speaking to. Again he presses down to hide himself from the couple and the other people now looking around. Not expecting the voice, they can’t understand where it came from. They start up the stairs again, wondering to themselves what could be going on.

That isn’t it though. Our hero is not through with them yet. “Hey you,” he yells again to get their attention before they enter the doors.

“Alright! Who is out there?” One of the men in the group demands angrily. The fears in the eyes of the people behind him betray what they are actually thinking.

“No one. No one, just to show ONE!” The old man yells in a maniacal cackle.

Even the man who was yelling is frightened now and starts to back his way up the stairs. Our hero tightens the trench coat around him in anticipation.

“Who is out there?” This time one of the women. “What is going on?”

The old man steps out into the light and the people see the trench coat. In a sudden moment of understanding they know what is coming. The women try to avert their eyes the men try to shield the people behind them from the images that could be. Like seeing a car accident, the eyes stray back, people peek from behind others and everyone is looking again. Another group approaching from the parking lot see what is about to happen and stare at the old man who is now undoing his coat and the scene unfolding before them

The coat comes loose at the waist, and he rips it from his body laughing again at the looks of astonishment. Quickly closing the coat, he runs towards the dark of the alley yards away. Before disappearing into the night he hears one of his spectators. “He was wearing a second trench coat under the first.

There is confusion and awe in his voice.

Our hero is gone though, snickering to himself in the shady recesses of the alley. He hops over an overturned garbage can and scares a few cats away from their secret hiding spots. “A fun night fun.” He whispers to himself. “Fun, run, fun and sun.”

The first coat is stripped off and he tosses it into a nearby dumpster, it having fulfilled its purpose. The second coat follows the first off of his slight body and is tossed on the ground next to a dumpster. He stops here, rifling through the detritus until, with a giggle, he finds what he is looking for. His bag comes out and he stuffs the second coat into it, the rest of his worldly belongings shuffling around inside.

The only things covering the old man now are the dirty rags that sustain him during the summer. They blend in nicely to his decrepit background. You have to look closely for him amongst the stained brick and graffiti of his surroundings. Coming to the end of the alley, he tentatively steps into the light. Glaring up at the street lamp throwing his poverty into stark relief he mutters about the weather.

Wincing with the pain in his eyes he hefts the bag to his shoulder and heads in the direction of the bus station. His business in this city is concluded and everything seems to be in order.

A shriek cuts the night air.

Our hero’s head snaps up smelling the night air and letting out a deep sigh. “Time to go, time to go. Go to time to work now.” He says it almost without enthusiasm but there is a glint in his eyes again that wasn’t there a moment ago. Reaching into his sack he grabs one of the few objects he owns. A rusty tire iron dented and warped from the countless uses. Ducking down yet another alley he tosses his bag into a corner and limps as fast as he can towards the source of the scream.

Two alleys deeper into the city he finds them. Three prostitutes are fending off the advances of their large, drunk pimp. From the shadows our hero’s eyes narrow. His is not just a life of entertainment and fun, there was always his dark brutal just beneath the surface. Incensed by what he sees, the old man circles behind the fight still in progress, trying to get the angle he needs on the aggressor. One of the girls falls, while the other two are smacked away by one of the pimp’s huge fists. He starts removing his shirt, the cold air rising off his pasty body. That is enough for our ragged champion, he makes his move. Sweeping out of the shadows, he swings the tire iron as hard as he can.

The sudden attack brings the man to his knees. The three terrified women look up from their fallen friend startled by the apparition in front of them. They scream again in unison and help the downed one to her feet, they scramble away. The tire iron is brought up again and rested on the half naked pimp’s skull. The old man leans forward and whispers in his ear, “I catch you, catch you again, doing this, I will kill kill kill you.” The pimp’s eyes go wide but it is too late for him. The ragged man drives the blunt end into his head, dropping him to the ground.

Looking around, there is no one left and so he fades again into the alley as he always does. Championing is tough work and he has a bus to catch. People in the area hear his off key voice singing “I am walking, ing, on on sunshine. WOW OW.” Time to head south, they won’t hear his song again for a year.