Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part thirteen copyright 2009 Robert J. Day

Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part thirteen, Weirdness
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GU-CrC7sUBA
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The next morning, feeling surprisingly good considering all the alcohol you'd consumed, you decide to take the bus over to Chickenwing's place and pay him back the twenty bucks you owe him, knowing he'll spend it on drugs and share them with you.
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You stop at the corner market for a pack of smokes on your way to the bus stop. In line ahead of you is a homeless man from your neighborhood who sometimes hits you up for spare change. (You usually give him a quarter if you have it.) With help from the cashier, he's busily sorting a big handful of pennies into stacks of fifteen cents each. After they complete each new stack, the homeless man turns away from the counter, walks over to the candy aisle, and grabs one lolipop. Then he returns to the counter, sets down the lolipop, and resumes counting pennies. This goes on for what seems like an eternity.
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Neither the cashier nor the homeless man appear to be aware of your existence, they go about their work with almost Zen-like precision. You feel like this should piss you off, normally you can't stand to be ignored, but you find this whole scene oddly fascinating. What could this guy possibly want all with all of those Tootsie Pops? Is he going to use candy to kick an alcohol or drug addiction? Good for him. You want to offer to buy the man the entire box of lolipops, but feel like if you speak you'll somehow break the magic spell that's been cast over this dingy little liquor store in midtown.
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At last the pile of pennies is all counted, and you're not a bit surprised to see that there was no leftover pennies. The perfect little moment is over. The cashier throws the suckers in a paper bag and without a word the homeless guy takes it from him and walks out. The cashier stares after him, dazed, and it takes a moment for him to finally notice you. "What can I do for you?" he asks, like a man trying to shake of a particularly disturbing dream. Feeling a little dazed yourself, you get your smokes, and walk to the bus stop. The homeless man, who would ordinarily have been waiting outside the store for you, is nowhere to be found.
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The strange sensation that fell over you while watching the bizarre happenings in the store persist while you're riding the bus. Across from you sits a big black kid, typical gangsta type, baggy clothes and a flashy chain. There's a scar on his face that runs in a zig zag from below his left eye to his chin. Ordinarily the type of person to make you nervous, but not so much today. He's crying. Silently, but the tears are rolling down his scarred face one after another and show no signs of stopping.
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You don't want him to catch you staring so you look ahead of you. There's an old asian man in a badly wrinkled suit reading a newspaper. He gets off at the next stop. When he stands up the sunlight coming through the window falls on his shirt and you can clearly see the black bra he's wearing underneath. What the fuck is going on in this city today? Have we all gone mad?
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You can't wait to tell Chickenwing about all of the strange shit you've witnessed today, so instead of knocking you just walk right in, and shit suddenly gets a lot weirder. Chickenwing is sitting on his couch naked, and on her knees in front of him, doing what she apparently does best, is Wal-Mart girl.
TO BE CONTINUED...