So I'm downtown and scruffy. Quick stop, no reason to dress the part. Find a meter, get it done.
Back to the car. Happen to have the hound with me, let him out on nearby grass to whee. He sniffs bushes, I just space, but then notice a magic-markered cardboard sign. It says:
out of Luck
It’s rumpled & frayed. Greasy & ripped. I pick it up because that's what I do (see post "Found and Claimed").
Suddenly I cop a meta-view of myself on that grassy patch, looking like spent luck myself: two day stubble, dirty jeans, dog-haired sweater with taco stains. Stinky dog by my side ("but he doesn't like baths" I say when someone notices).
But what if people think I'm homeless...? I turn sign over as I carry to car, feeling vaguely shamed. For a moment I consider a sociological stunt, using the sign to get a view from the sidewalk. There for all to see.
Swirling synapses--"I'm no better than this guy, just luckier, he might be honestly undone, nah, he's probably a drunk, where is he now? planning on coming back for his sign?"
Throw sign in the back,it sits in the garage for months. I finally take a picture of it and post to my TV show website (neotropolis.org). Today my sign would say:
not quite broke
please help somebody
I’m keeping the original. One day, who knows?