Under the Boardwalk

From an article at nypost.com, edited by yours truly: A New Mexico art group is hosting a novel pandemic relief fundraiser — Sit on Satan’s Lap. Scheduled for 12/19, admission will cost $6.66. Sour St. Beelzebub will be behind a barrier, only one knee exposed. The piece includes a clever catchphrase: “Happy Hellidays.”

In keeping with the aforementioned, here’s an excerpt from The Man in the Box, the first story in the A Hitch in Twilight collection. It was inspired by Alice in Chain’s Man in the Box, but probably is completely different than what the band sings about. Tragically, frontman Layne Staley OD’d at 34. The best of him, his rousing vocals, live on:

Beneath the Boardwalk, somewhere along the Brighton Beach side, leeward of a dune formed by the bitter winter winds, lay a long, narrow cardboard box around which rats were scurrying. There was a restless, troubled murmuring within it. Suddenly the flaps flew aside and a man sprang to a sitting position like a jack-in-the-box, casting aside his blankets, pages of a newspaper, in fear. He fought to regain his breath and muttered.
His attention was snared by a click. His paroxysm had been vanquished. His senses had never seemed so alive. He peered beyond the dune, past the small gap between its peak and the underside of the Boardwalk. A cigarette lighter flickered, for an instant illuminating a hard though handsome face that featured a thick, neatly trimmed black beard.
“Who’s that?” said the man in the box.
“Easy, friend,” said the dark figure. “I’m just out walking my hound.”
Again the face was illumined as the man drew on the cigarette.
“Ya wouldn’t happen to have anotha one’a those, would ya?”
“Sure, but you’ll have to come out here for it.”
The rise and fall of a gentle sea filled the background, complementing the stillness.
“Can’t blame ya for that. Ya can’t be too careful nowadays.”
He stepped out of the shadow of the Boardwalk and froze at the sight of the large black dog sitting quietly at his master’s side.
“Don’t worry. He’s really a pussycat.” He extended a hand. “Here you go.”
The homeless man approached, cautious, reaching for the cigarette. Suddenly he stopped and gazed at his legs, amazed. “I can walk! I didn’t think I’d eva see the light’a day again. I been laid up with a fever. I was burnin’ up what seems like only a few seconds ago. Alluva sudden I feel great.”
He laughed, momentarily forgetting his condition: tattered clothing, matted hair, thick, wild beard. In contrast, the dog’s master was dapper in a chic long black coat, black hat, and walking stick.
“Why don’t you go to a shelter?”
“I been kicked atta every one aroun’ here for stealin’.” He paused, realizing his gaffe. The dog’s master, undeterred, chuckled.
“I only done what was done to me a million times.”
“I never condemn anyone’s actions, my friend. We all do what we have to do. It’s just that I find the human condition eternally amusing.”
The homeless man fixed his gaze on him. “You got some sense’a humor.”
The dog’s master tendered a flame and lit the cigarette he’d surrendered.
“Ya wouttn’t happen to have some spare change too? I’m starvin’.”
“Come, I’ll stake you to a meal.”
The homeless man was skeptical. “What restaurant’d let me in.”
“I’ll take you to my place. You’ll love it.”

Not much business for the floating book shop today, but it was still great being out in the gorgeous weather. My thanks to the woman and the man who each did a swap and buy of Russian books, and to the woman who bought The Biblical Basis For The Catholic Faith by John Salza; and to Mr. Conspiracy aka Steve, who purchased The Declaration Of Independence, United States Constitution, Bill Of Rights & Amendments by Founding Fathers and Tony Darnell.

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