Ain't No Nero

 

Hi forest! Hi forest! I look and see nobody. Hi! They're on 

The roof peering down 

With lopers. Warn them, she shouts. What? No, I'm here to play music. There's a small branch on the awning over the sidewalk, and the shopping cart transient who holds his sign with his legs over half the sidewalk out from our co-op wall of windows. 

I set up and start playing. It's a sunny winter day. I sound good. I need to earn a living. The man in exercise clothes walks walks with his lopers down the way to where the branches are falling onto the sidewalk. Doesn't take long for the street gargoyle to leap up fuck you! Fuck you to the fellow trying to warn or move him. 

Now I'm amused. Until well dressed gym clothes says, you didn't Warn him. I'm here to play music. 

I want the branches to fall on him. I start telling gym about the Short Fuse' history. 

Ok, he cuts me off, Warn People. No, I'm here to play music. Well if you want to talk, warn people. I hold up my Forest Service patch and ignore gym. 

He gathers up his cuttings into a bulging armload. Every branch except a couple. I smile as he proceeds with the twigs of his enterprise. Almost all of them I quip. 

Shopping cart man rattles his home away, then closer. I'm sounding good. People tip and smile and thank me. The dislodged returns to his stretch of cigarette butt scattered acreage of ten feet. 

Quit making people feel shitty. I'm here to make people feel happy. What else can I say? Quit smoking. It's a suggestion not an attack. It's nice and silent for the garbage truck sonata of commerce. 

Boss gym has worked up a healthy perspiration from limbing around the defunct community owned former store. It looks ready, for market. It looks like a fire sale of not quite apathy. 

I'm doing the Warning about the cold marshmallow equity going up in non smoke. I clean up the garbage, the bags of racoon chow, the half burned papers people use for blankets, their ashes that cover half the entryway. Watch out, it's ugly and unhygienic. I siren in and on and over to the coda on my fiddle. 

I'm no Nero, just an ordinary guy. Ok, everyone, shower. 

 

NW pdx

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