3 thoughts on “13¢/

    • 13¢ was what we called him. He wouldn’t give a name when you asked. He was a homeless Yakima vet on the streets of Seattle, a bit shell-shocked from ‘Nam. I gave him the requested amount of change on a daily basis, and a smoke whenever he asked.

      He paid me back in spades when some drunk “tourists” (what they called the suburbanites on Friday and Saturday nights) tried to start a fight with me because they took offense to my wearing a kilt or one of my floor-length velvet skirts (I forget which). He stepped out of the shadows with four or five other homeless Native Americans I’d befriended in the same way and asked if they were messing with his “friend”. The tourists ran away. I tried to give him some smokes and he got mad — “You already gave me one today, bruh.” Then he walked away.

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