A Day Like Any Other

How might a day begin out here, the street? The stone bench/sofa at 4th and High is a fine spot to rest with the sun early out, black hoodie drawn high. The limestone pulls the bright light in, gives up the heat it holds for just that reason? Change left from last night buys a Steel Reserve tucked in the sweatshirt pouch, turned up in time as the traffic slows past, eyes darting up-down High Street across the sparse lot. Legs crossed in a lotus almost. Fits nicely. The back pain gives way as the faint cheap beer nausea promises relief. Edwina 'cross the opposite side, I've taken her spot, staggers slightly, hand up almost waves. Big Momma, with a good night last night in out of cars, she's got beer now and smokes, few dollars in hand. Lest, of course, she's seen the dope boy. Traffic parts as she steps from the curb, a silver grey Bentley fastback (Continental?). Her face is bruised, black olive blue telling the tale 'for she speaks her tongue. She's off her meds.

"Girl, where you been?" me lighting her Newport. "Who been thrashing you around?"

"Aint' nobody laid a hand on me! You knowing that." Sits down beside, faint night smell. Powder blue sweatshirt, forest green, perhaps ski pants stretched beyond measure.
"Oh Big Mamma!" odd clothes the charity of last week before that run. She pulls the tab open, turns up her 2-11, cheek moist red it's center.
"I'd a seizure. Fell in the concrete. Seen Tony? this time?" She checks the traffic, old habit. "Don't be telling Pastor you seen me."

"Aint nobody telling nothing, Darling." I'm thinking 'bout vodka, the sweet burn of good stuff. "We gotta call a squad."

"Won't go! Ain't going no hospital, no time." She drinks thirstily, sweat beads off her body in the early cool.

"Just let 'em come and dress that scrape." At times she listens, guess cause I take the time, call her Darlin' or Edwina, her real name. "We'll go across, to the carryout."

"He'll know I'm drunk," afraid he might cut her off, refuse to sell to her, then she'd have to walk the extra block up Fifth. "Sides, I got a beer already," boldly holds the tall silver can out for the world.

"Drink your beer," I know better than come between. "I'll get someone with a cell phone to call. Drink your beer". I slowly pull arthritic joints to the task, stand, stretch embracing clear bright light. "You gotta let 'em take care of you." No use talking salvation now. "There'll be more beer."