Travels with Charlie
I don't know his name. I met him in Bus no. 33, on my way to Santa Monica Promenade. He looked like a homeless person (though his homelessness appeared to me to be more simulated than real). He kept his belongings on the seat next to him, and was busy drinking beer from a can, covered with a black recycled plastic bag. There being no vacant seat I approached him, and he asked me quizzingly as to what I wanted. I asked him if I could please sit there and vacated the seat next to him for me by removing his belongings. And then he started talking.
He asked me if I smoked. On being told that I didn't, he expressed his surprise. He asked me where I was going, and on being told, he asked further if I was going to work. I replied in negative and told him that I was just going to meet a friend. He said, "Ok, you have a good job like me; weekends off."
Soon he pulled out a big bundle of Marlboro, separated each packet from the bundle, put them in another recycled, black plastic bag and told to me, "I'm going to sell these. You're sitting with a criminal, my friend." I told him I didn't care as long as it didn't concern me. He then said, "At least, it is better than" then paused and asked again, "Can you spare me a quarter?" When I tried to pull out a quarter, he laughed contendedly and said, "See, I was just joking. I mean, I was just telling you. I sell cigarettes; I don't beg." And then he started shouting "Cigaratte, cigarette? $2, not $3". Then, on not getting any response, he commented, "I see, this bus is full of saintly people."
He then showed me his left had, which was bandaged, and told me how he had got into a drunken browl with a friend 2 nights ago. He told me that he had asked the doctor putting the bandage as to where the other guy is. According to him, the doctor had replied him, "You hit him with a 2x4 wood; where do you expect him to be? He is lying there unconscious". Charlie told me that he then replied to the doctor, "I'm not satisfied; I want a rematch."
He cut many jokes along the way. He said to me, "My ATM card is not working; may I use yours? I will return it in 5 minutes. By the way, what is your PIN?" He also told the people in the bus that they should not hold him responsible for the fact that they have to go to job even on a saturday. He asked them to cheer up.
He told me that he makes, on an average weekend, about $300 (which I found a bit too much, because he said he buys only about 3-4 bundles of cigarettes, sells them, and then goes back to downtown to buy more, so that he can sell more) and about $65 on a weekday. He told me that he goes to pubs on weekends.
He agreed that he could have made more money if he had gone to Santa monica beach and the promenade, but "them Cops there come on horse" and so he told me that he would rather settle with his usual, safe place: Venice Beach.
Soon the bus stopped at the Venice beach intersection. He got up. I wished him a nice weekend; he smiled at me, said, "Take care", laughed loudly and slowly walked away.
I looked forward to my destination: Santa Monica.
To him, it was just another day at the beach.
Soon he pulled out a big bundle of Marlboro, separated each packet from the bundle, put them in another recycled, black plastic bag and told to me, "I'm going to sell these. You're sitting with a criminal, my friend." I told him I didn't care as long as it didn't concern me. He then said, "At least, it is better than" then paused and asked again, "Can you spare me a quarter?" When I tried to pull out a quarter, he laughed contendedly and said, "See, I was just joking. I mean, I was just telling you. I sell cigarettes; I don't beg." And then he started shouting "Cigaratte, cigarette? $2, not $3". Then, on not getting any response, he commented, "I see, this bus is full of saintly people."
He then showed me his left had, which was bandaged, and told me how he had got into a drunken browl with a friend 2 nights ago. He told me that he had asked the doctor putting the bandage as to where the other guy is. According to him, the doctor had replied him, "You hit him with a 2x4 wood; where do you expect him to be? He is lying there unconscious". Charlie told me that he then replied to the doctor, "I'm not satisfied; I want a rematch."
He cut many jokes along the way. He said to me, "My ATM card is not working; may I use yours? I will return it in 5 minutes. By the way, what is your PIN?" He also told the people in the bus that they should not hold him responsible for the fact that they have to go to job even on a saturday. He asked them to cheer up.
He told me that he makes, on an average weekend, about $300 (which I found a bit too much, because he said he buys only about 3-4 bundles of cigarettes, sells them, and then goes back to downtown to buy more, so that he can sell more) and about $65 on a weekday. He told me that he goes to pubs on weekends.
He agreed that he could have made more money if he had gone to Santa monica beach and the promenade, but "them Cops there come on horse" and so he told me that he would rather settle with his usual, safe place: Venice Beach.
Soon the bus stopped at the Venice beach intersection. He got up. I wished him a nice weekend; he smiled at me, said, "Take care", laughed loudly and slowly walked away.
I looked forward to my destination: Santa Monica.
To him, it was just another day at the beach.
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