·Travelogue #42 - "Fuck you, too?" Fuck you to the power of three, as well.
TERRORIST!!!!!!
"Spare some change for a terrorist?" said Nick, dressed in a towel around his face, bandit-style. He was sitting indian-style. I was sitting beside him, viewing the Key West night along Duval Street.
Being broke is one thing. Being lazy is also one thing. Being broke and lazy, but not lazy enough to be a complete bum is also another thing. HOWEVER, being broke and lazy, creative enough to make what others might consider "boredom" into a "good night", and above all, being paid for it... well, welcome to being a bum.
A man and his father were completely taken aback to his inquiry, as if Nick had challenged them to a fight. "What the fuck did you just say!?" said the younger one. Nick apologized, lowering the towel. A good joke was going bad. "I can't believe you just fucking just said that!" The man's breathing started to veer on this side of hyperventilation.
Fine, I'll brag. It was my idea.
The situation was getting worse. The man's father intervened and tried to calm his now-apparent son.
"I can't believe... I can't!" Puffing chest and sweating, he continued "This... I LOST BUDDIES OVER THERE!"
Nick tried to calm him, too, caught in the idea that he was in immediate danger of being beaten to a street-kid pulp and realizing that he was caught defenseless. After, panhandling is a crime in Key West; you can be considered a criminal simply for not having enough money in your wallet and stalking the streets. Hell, if you were found sleeping on Higgs Beach, it was a mandatory twenty-nine days in jail and a free-bus ticket out of The Conch Republic.
This was an impasse and I could sense that pulsating emotions would eventually lead to violence. I edged myself away, happy that a story developing (my raison d'etre) , and felt vindicated--a few days before, I had to choke out a drunken Nick for disrespecting my musical gear. Then again, I didn't really have many other intelligent friends to talk with in Key West...
So, the young man cocked his fist back, stood over Nick, and...
Ten minutes later, Nick, Danny the bisexual bum, and I were filling out a police report, emphasizing "Hate Crime" with a dull pencil I had stolen from the library.
The young man, on leave from Iraq/Afghanistan, was too drunk to discern a Texican from a Terrorist. A brown-skinned bespectacled Texican yelled, "Hey, leave him alone," only to have the young man pounce on him, yelling "You fucking Terrorist!" The Texican saved Nick's life and well-being.
Fearing being apprehended, the young man and his father hid in a popular bar. We followed them and hailed the police, hiding the fact that Nick was panhandling. The next morning, we checked the online log of mugshots, only to see that the young man was arrested for a "Felony", filed under "Hate Crime" and "Assault".
It was, uh, my idea.
TERRORIST!!!!!!
"Spare some change for a terrorist?" said Nick, dressed in a towel around his face, bandit-style. He was sitting indian-style. I was sitting beside him, viewing the Key West night along Duval Street.
Being broke is one thing. Being lazy is also one thing. Being broke and lazy, but not lazy enough to be a complete bum is also another thing. HOWEVER, being broke and lazy, creative enough to make what others might consider "boredom" into a "good night", and above all, being paid for it... well, welcome to being a bum.
A man and his father were completely taken aback to his inquiry, as if Nick had challenged them to a fight. "What the fuck did you just say!?" said the younger one. Nick apologized, lowering the towel. A good joke was going bad. "I can't believe you just fucking just said that!" The man's breathing started to veer on this side of hyperventilation.
Fine, I'll brag. It was my idea.
The situation was getting worse. The man's father intervened and tried to calm his now-apparent son.
"I can't believe... I can't!" Puffing chest and sweating, he continued "This... I LOST BUDDIES OVER THERE!"
Nick tried to calm him, too, caught in the idea that he was in immediate danger of being beaten to a street-kid pulp and realizing that he was caught defenseless. After, panhandling is a crime in Key West; you can be considered a criminal simply for not having enough money in your wallet and stalking the streets. Hell, if you were found sleeping on Higgs Beach, it was a mandatory twenty-nine days in jail and a free-bus ticket out of The Conch Republic.
This was an impasse and I could sense that pulsating emotions would eventually lead to violence. I edged myself away, happy that a story developing (my raison d'etre) , and felt vindicated--a few days before, I had to choke out a drunken Nick for disrespecting my musical gear. Then again, I didn't really have many other intelligent friends to talk with in Key West...
So, the young man cocked his fist back, stood over Nick, and...
Ten minutes later, Nick, Danny the bisexual bum, and I were filling out a police report, emphasizing "Hate Crime" with a dull pencil I had stolen from the library.
The young man, on leave from Iraq/Afghanistan, was too drunk to discern a Texican from a Terrorist. A brown-skinned bespectacled Texican yelled, "Hey, leave him alone," only to have the young man pounce on him, yelling "You fucking Terrorist!" The Texican saved Nick's life and well-being.
Fearing being apprehended, the young man and his father hid in a popular bar. We followed them and hailed the police, hiding the fact that Nick was panhandling. The next morning, we checked the online log of mugshots, only to see that the young man was arrested for a "Felony", filed under "Hate Crime" and "Assault".
It was, uh, my idea.
