“What if squirrels made documentaries?”
That was the question posed to me by the homeless man that lives on the curb outside my apartment. He’s a short fellow, dirty of course, with a harsh voice. He likes to talk, but never makes any sense. Alex named him Angelo.
He saw me when I came out my front door. We locked eyes as I walked down the steps. Before I could make my escape through the alley he caught up with me. Cornered, I had no choice but to remain calm. He’s a close talker, which is unfortunate, because his breath smells like the floor of a New York City subway station.
He leaned in, looked me straight in the eye and spoke very slowly. “I’m kind of like a squirrel. Maybe I could be in a squirrel documentary. All I do is find stuff. And then I hide it. I’m just like a squirrel.”
“I found this mustache today. It was on the ground over by the chicken restaurant. It makes me look like a sheriff.”
He held out his hand and showed me the fake mustache. It was brown and shaped like a parenthesis. He put it on.
I nodded and tried to smile. I was stuck and starting to panic.
“I could be the squirrel sheriff. They could write the story about me. Or if they needed another character I could play that too.”
I stared into his eyes. He was serious. He really wanted to be the squirrel sheriff in the squirrel documentary. What was he thinking? Was he thinking? I’m guessing no.
My heart started to kick in. I felt bad for him. The man was beyond insane. He really had no idea what he was talking about. Documentaries have no characters. They don’t have story lines. And most importantly, squirrels don’t make documentaries.
I was about to do something I had never done before. I was going to speak to Angelo. The man needed help. I hesitated at first, but I decided it was the right thing to do.
I opened my mouth to speak. Angelo threw up. In my open mouth.
Lesson learned.
Browse Timeline
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josue ricardo drumond
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