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World series

I made eye contact with a homeless man in Spanish Harlem who somehow mesmerized me. He was on one side of a car, I on the other. There was something special in his gaze, that was disarming somehow. I knew he meant me no harm, but also that something was just about to happen.

He maintained eye contact, stepped out from around the car, flung his pants to his ankles while squatting, smiled broader and sprayed about a gallon of diarrhea all over the road in front of the car. I maintained eye contact this time, because nothing ever happens to me, and I was bewildered. Sensing a narrative need, he exclaimed "there ya go." He then pulled up his pants, unencumbered by any nod to hygiene, and walked the other way.

Its one of my most vivid memories. Like that first time when a girl lifted her hips so I could slide her panties off, or when my pet rabbit died from a seizure in my arms. Right in between those two, smiling.

Anyway, I think new york knows how to manage a million little bits of shame, all at the same time. I carry more than that video around with me, and I'm one man.
 
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