THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



The moments I can only explain in verse...

Cashing in all my cans and bottles brought me a fine and well earned bounty of $12.45 split into one ten, two ones, one quarter and two dimes.

I gushed with an inward smile looking down at the currency in my hands sticky from stale lagers, ales, and ports.

My eyes traveled to my belt then my trousers then my shoes. For the first time in as far back as I can recall I was embarrassed with myself. My clothes smelled rotten and shined with dirt and oil.

The warmth provided by the new ten dollar bill hastily swapped places with apprehension and I became glum and self-conscience in the midst of the cashier and the folks in line behind me.

I stepped backwards to the side of the line disallowing the patrons to see my back. I viewed them all in the eyes and they me.

The ten dollar bill looked like a deity in the rough laying in my palm. I crushed it slowly.

I backed away further from the line of onlookers as my throat clinched tightly and my eyes pulsed and swelled warm with moist emotion.

Today I have $12.45

tomorrow I have clothes, shiny with dirt and oil.

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