The Ace of Spades

Chapter 2

     There is a man whose calluses speak stories--with eyes those of chocolate coins, and hair hewn short like the wheat fields of mid-May. If you hand The Wandering Man a penny with shining luster, he will sing a homeless man's ballad; deep mournful tones, a whale-song in the echoing street. Some, like Mama, say the strays are merely shelter pets; yet, here in this alley of non-existent street lights, the walls have no doors--here in this alley of mud and grime, a song is a homeless man's possession. A song-- a homeless man's socks.

    You see, I may call him The Wandering Man, but the Butcher calls him Dave.

    He can be found on the street with the coldest cement, chilled by the spring's early night. However, he must be approached with bent knees and kind eyes, as The Wandering Man avoids people as if his shoes are gasoline drenched and one might produce a match. Many schoolchildren will speak of a BoogeyMan, but I must confess The Wandering Man is my favorite, for only he can become a shadow under the brightest of lights.

    I find myself in solitude in this house of brass and keys, where Mama leaves me and my thoughts to play-- for to know true boredom, is to count the raindrops. With a tap on our glass pane, and the cost of a lost-and-found penny, I may usher in The Wandering Man with the promise of coffee, may lace Mama's satin shoes and dance to the tune of his heart's lament.

    It is in the labyrinth of my mind that a footfall becomes a piano note, melancholy and tame; the arching of my leg a symbol crash, or the sound of a jet engine plane. For even under the guise of the setting sun, the night having caught its net on the horizon, even the shadows on the scarred floor are kelp forests in a bed of turquoise waters--as I am just a girl and her satin shoes. Just a girl left to

                                  D

                                       A

                                            N

                                                C

                                                      E.