Last night I saw a homeless woman on the street. True to form, she looked both disheveled and miserable and yet somehow unaware of both of these conditions. She was holding a plastic bag, that, she would, from time to time, peak inside of and smile at. She had on a brown coat that she could’ve wrapped around her body three times. I’m still not sure if she was wearing any pants. But what she lacked in tidy appearance, she made up for in personality.
As I walked passed her she yelled, “The devil has a message for you!”
I raised my eyebrows, but kept walking. She repeated, “The devil has a message for you!”
I looked at her. She cringed and said, “You’ve got the last starburst dream in your pocket. You better use it!” And then she took off. Fast. Faster than I ever dreamed a homeless woman could.
I’d always imagined that if the devil had a message for me it would be something along the lines of, say, “This confirmation has been sent in order to inform you that your place in hell has been reserved next to Karl Rove and your first ex-boyfriend.” But, hey, that’s just me.
