12/25

There's a man in the window.  He's perched on the ledge, smoking a cigarette.  He takes swigs of the forty ounces of cheap beer in his hand.  And he is so pleased with himself.  He smiles because he loves his smile.  Because he loves exposing his teeth to the world through grinning lips.

And he spouts absurdities.  About anything.  About everything.  He has a theory for whatever it is you're looking for.  He has a solution for your problems.  Of course, this won't be an appealing presentation.  No, it'll be an outlandish suggestion generally praising violence or resulting in aggressive confrontation because that is all his soul knows.  That is the path he's cut for himself.

So, as I'm conversing with this smokey gentleman.  As I'm foolishly hearing him out, for a time that can only be too long, he throws his beer at me.  In a haze of carbonation and cold liquid he hurls the beer in his hand at my skull.  And there's a moment of confusion.  Of utter shock.  As I wipe away the drops falling down my beard, and he moves for the exit.  His dramatic goodbye.  His so long and farewell.  It's almost complete.

And just as he's passing the threshold I tell him never to return.  I tell him I prefer drinking my beer rather than cleaning it off the floor.

And he no longer smiles.  

But I do.