Merrick

The large man had just got a hot dog, Diet Pepsi. The vendor appeared to speak no

English. He took the ten dollar bill, put it in his soiled apron, and no change appeared.

The large guy nearly smiled, he so loved confrontation. Street one’s were the best. Inflict

damage, be three blocks away before the skelly hit the pavement.

He leaned over, began to shovel a dollop of sauerkraut. The vendor reached out his hand,

going

‘No, is my job.’

The guy shot out his hand, grasped the vendor’s wrist like a vice, squeezed hard. The

vendor, horrified………..Had he heard bone break? Muttered

‘Ok, ok, help yourself.’

His English returning? The guy released him, said in a very quiet tone,

‘Return my money, you thieving fuck.’

The vendor put his other hand in the apron, pulled out a splash of notes, ten’s twenties, a

fifty. The guy took the fifty. The vendor cried

‘Is no right. You gave me ten dollar!’

The man smiled, all ice and emptiness, said

‘Coppin a plea but are you calling me a liar Mohammed?’

He decided, no.

The large man asked

‘Little more ketchup there, yah think?’

Got it.

The guy bit down on the dog, leaned right in the vendor’s face as ketchup leaked from

his mouth, asked

‘The fuck is this, Real dog?’

Then laughed, displaying sauerkraut, meat, awash in his mouth, Patted the vendor almost

gently on the cheek, said

‘Lighten up buddy, just kidding.’

He took another bite, snapped

‘Napkin?’

Got it.

Them dumped the mangled remains of his food on the cart, said

‘See you tomorrow.’

Moved away, hesitated, as if something had occurred to him. The vendor was gazing in

distress at his cart, plus the fifty that went south.

The large guy stepped back, looked contrite, went

‘Oh My Gad, a tip! I forgot, what must you think of me?’

The vendor was afraid to meet his eyes, something dead was in them, dead a long time.

But a tip?

His fifty back?

He raised his eyes to the guy’s, the dead thing in there was laughing

The guy said

‘Here it is…………………………………

            Don’t

              Fuck

With

New

Yorkers.’

And was gone.

The vendor felt a cold that was no relation to the weather. He began to push his cart

away.

Away?

Maybe the UK?

At least they had free medical cover.

But first, he’d have to answer to his sponsors.

The Russian’s.