The other night, I had another brief run in with one of Galveston's finest (dripping with sarcasm here). I don't know his name. Don't really care to either. In fact, I wish I didn't even know him at all. You see, he's a bum. Or homeless person for the politically correct in the crowd. And the unfortunate part of the whole thing for me is that he frequents my block.
It all started a few years ago (yes... he is a storm survivor... somehow). He came knocking on my front door one weekend asking for money. I thought it rather ball-sy of the man (I really couldn't believe that someone would go door-to-door begging for money). So for that reason (and the fact that he honestly scared me) I gave him some loose change I had sitting by the front door. I think it was like 50 cents. Let me tell you why he frightened me a bit. He has the tear drop tattoo. You know the one people apparently get in prison. Because they killed somebody. Yep. He's got one. And he was intoxicated. And just seemed rather off-his-rocker-esque, if you can dig.
Fast forward a few months and he's back. Knocking on the front door. This time my favorite lady friend answered the door. He asked for me specifically ("lemme talk to yer husband"). When I got to the door I told him that I would not give him any more money and that I didn't want him repeating this behvaior. He tried to convince me that with a few dollars he could get himself some soups that would last him for a while. I stood my ground and told him no. He attempted to get a little agitated. But he left. Still money-less.
About another six months or so go by. I'd seen him around the neighborhood, but he hadn't bothered us. One night about 9:30 that special lady and I were watching TV. And. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! He's back. Banging on our front door like he owns the place and forgot his key. (Let me preface this by saying that I was in the middle of a rather stressful month at work. And I tend to bottle my frustrations until they explode.) I opened the front door after I peeked out the side window and saw hime making some kind of motion like he wanted to use my phone. I gave him no time to say anything. Instead, I cussed him all the way down the front steps. Threatening to call the cops. He ran off (I'd like to think he was quaking in his boots as he did so).
So I still see him from time to time around the neighborhood. I saw him just a few weeks ago at ARToberFEST getting escorted out by Ara 13 (the human weapon). And he in turn was arrested for public intoxication (he had been harassing folks outside Mod).
Which leads me to this week. As he stumbled his way past our house, he stopped. Held out his hand and mumbled something. I told him to bo on about his business. He stumbled off and voiced some form of an expletive. And disappeared in the shadows.
If I'd only been wearing my high heels. Have a splendid weekend G-town.
