Smack Down


There’s a guy who washes windshields on the Cicero off-ramp of the Ike. He’s been there for at least six months, rain, sleet or snow, doesn’t matter. Anyway, he disappeared for about three or four weeks and I was thinking that maybe he got nabbed by the cops for vagrancy or whatever they get those guys on.

Well, he shows up last week wearing one of those neck-brace-halo-things. The kind that immobilizes your head. You know, the kind that’s screwed into your skull. Now me, I would just chill out at the homeless shelter or wherever these guys convalesce, but this guy was back on the job hustling his rag and soap. He always looked like a shorter version of Shaka Zulu. Same dark skin, not an ounce of fat, eyes that say everything that needs to be said, etc. But now he’s wearing his t-shirt draped over the back of his halo, which makes him look like he’s ready for battle.

So, a few days go by and the next time I see him he’s shoving his finger in some other guys face, who was much bigger. I guess telling him that it’s his corner and he better move on down the road. All it would take is one smack across his face and he’d be off the windshield circuit for a good year. Yeah, I’m talking about the other guy. I’ve tried to get a picture of him, but I’d have to get out of the car to do so, and there’s no way in hell I’m gonna do that around there.

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