He was sitting slumped over in the corner, by the broken cigarette machine and the gum ball dispenser and the atm machine. At first glance one may have thought he was just an old pile of rags, tossed aside to be taken out with the garbage after being used to clean up spilled string beans or something like that. And really, to some people, that is what he was. That's what all homeless people were.
Yes, Bernie was homeless. I could tell from the moment I saw him, all piled up in the corner like a big pile of rags. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the girl behind the counter regarded him with a disdainful sniff. Or maybe it was because his shoes were held together with scotch tape and rubber bands.
Whatever it was, it was obvious to me from the first moment I laid eyes on him. Yes, Bernie was homeless, but he was in no way a pile of rags.
YOU ARE READING
My side
RandomBernie, never without his Yankees cap. Bernie, laughing like he'd never laugh again. He smells like cigarettes and pot and music. Bernie, opening me up to the world when I thought the doors where sealed forever. Bernie. 1988, Bronx New York She's 1...
