Martin Luther King, just south of Rainier. We have one taker, a middle-aged man, close-cropped shave growing out again, with a paper bag under one arm. He's got on worn blue running pants and a blue sweatshirt, the top a shade or two darker than the pants.
"Ey."
"Wha's goin' on."
"Not a lot, how's it goin'."
Both of us are so far speaking these exchanges in a pleasant monotone. He seems like the stoic type. The genial tone of the questions asked are their own answer. He pauses after my last question, however, and I'm thinking he won't speak further, but then he does:
"Good, for a change."
"Oh, excellent!"
"Real good, actually."
"Happy to hear it."
I'm about to ask him for details, and he jumps the gun– "I was just sitting on t' street corner–" kohnah– "minding my own, right back there, when six cars stopped to ask me if everything was okay."
His stoic vibe is quickly disappearing as he relates the experience, becoming more animated. More lifelike.
"Six!" I say.
"Yeah, six different cars! And I didn't have my head in my hands, nothin' like that, I wasn't cryin' or nothin'! Didn't matter what they was driven' neither, new cars, old ones,"
"Oh that's so beautiful–"
"Aw yeah! And I'm talkin' in a row!"
"Thaaat's amazing! That makes me so happy about humanity!"
"They're still out there!"
"They're still out there!"
On simple reflex I clap with joy, both of us rising up in a secular sort of rapture, living that high you hear in the voices of gospel singers.
"Every single one, makin' sure I was okay. And one of 'em came back, and we had a looooong conversation, praying' and talkin'." "So beautiful!"
When he leaves we wave at each other through the glass, and he's winking a wink I can almost hear, a signal call of joy and belief, putting rich color into this cloudy day.
"Ey."
"Wha's goin' on."
"Not a lot, how's it goin'."
Both of us are so far speaking these exchanges in a pleasant monotone. He seems like the stoic type. The genial tone of the questions asked are their own answer. He pauses after my last question, however, and I'm thinking he won't speak further, but then he does:
"Good, for a change."
"Oh, excellent!"
"Real good, actually."
"Happy to hear it."
I'm about to ask him for details, and he jumps the gun– "I was just sitting on t' street corner–" kohnah– "minding my own, right back there, when six cars stopped to ask me if everything was okay."
His stoic vibe is quickly disappearing as he relates the experience, becoming more animated. More lifelike.
"Six!" I say.
"Yeah, six different cars! And I didn't have my head in my hands, nothin' like that, I wasn't cryin' or nothin'! Didn't matter what they was driven' neither, new cars, old ones,"
"Oh that's so beautiful–"
"Aw yeah! And I'm talkin' in a row!"
"Thaaat's amazing! That makes me so happy about humanity!"
"They're still out there!"
"They're still out there!"
On simple reflex I clap with joy, both of us rising up in a secular sort of rapture, living that high you hear in the voices of gospel singers.
"Every single one, makin' sure I was okay. And one of 'em came back, and we had a looooong conversation, praying' and talkin'." "So beautiful!"
When he leaves we wave at each other through the glass, and he's winking a wink I can almost hear, a signal call of joy and belief, putting rich color into this cloudy day.
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