some times

'is that a turqoise ring?'
'yes'
'which month is that'
'huh? you mean, - which month??'
'yes, which month is that'
'uh, huh, march'
'is that when you were born'
'yes, - and this is a march-turqoise ring'

The ring is beautiful and I wear it on my right middle finger. The turqoise bracelet I wear on my left wrist. And his dreadlocks are locked into one lock and he forgot to zip his pants, I see his black boxers under the black leather jacket he neglectingly wears. The tips of his fingers are dirty and his nails look like dragon claws. His eyes fierce and clear flicker in the unsteady light and he is what we call in German 'wirr', 'kirre' - he is a lunatic, a raving lunatic, and he can't stop talking about how someone attacked him and sprayed something in his face that literally zapped his brain away.

I can give you, some minutes, some times, some smiles. but my bus comes. excuse me and God bless you.

When I looked back he was gone, as if swallowed by the earth in the very moment I turned around. The penetrant homeless smell won't leave and I roll myself together on the seat, trying to find some rest.

'what was the name of your city again?'
'F-R-E-I-B-U-R-G'
'I hope to make it once to your country. That's why I am doing this. That's why I am collecting money, you know, I am bumming money'
'i bum cigarettes'
You are a bum, you should bum I think. And am impressed that he is so determined in his hope.
some
times