(Two men at a sidewalk street corner verbally collide)
-Me?
-Yea dickhead, you...
-What?
-Im talking to you....what the fuck?! You're sitting there all depressed, mopey, hanging your head, holding that cardboard ass Bay of Pigs sign....what does that even mean?
-Well, I was there, and it was not right what we did.
-But I dont give a shit if you were there.
-Why would not you? I fought for this country.
-So what...
-So What?
-Yea, so fucking what...Bay of Pigs, Iraq, Vietnam, Normandy....who gives a shit...you fucking different?
-Well, I think I am, after all I served this country, what did you do?
-What did I do? I fucking showed up to work everyday. Fuck you think about that?
-I do not know, I guess I would have to ask what type of work.... to me, showing to work seems normal....nothing special, unless you are giving back to society.
-Nothing special?! Who's special? What's special? How do you come about special? What do you want people to think, you standing there on the sidewalk, outside Foot Locker for chrissake, mentioning your two seconds worth of fame during the Bay of Pigs invasion. What does that even mean? What does that mean to me? You were storming the shores? How many days you storm the shores? Two? Three? Five?
-No, more like 20 sir.
-20 days, that's your whole life. That's what this says to me, this sign. You've lived 20 fucking days that meant something to you. Did they mean anything to anyone else? Is that why you're standing here pissing me and everyone else walking by off?
-God knows. God watches.
-God knows? God doesn't know shit considering he's left you to stand here on the sidewalk holding a sign, waiting for a sign, when you and I both know you really wish you were not here holding a sign that's got your life's work written on it. And now I'm the fucking guy taking your sign, your little brown cardboard tattered-to-shit sign, seriously for once. I walk by you every goddam day, and all you do is look to the sky, hold up your sign, and I don't even know what the fuck....you ain't got a cup...you ain't looking for handouts. What is it, some peace of mind? Some short bit of, hey maybe I'll make this schmuck think about something when he walks by...maybe I'll give this ignorant prick something good and filthy, and weird to think about for a minute? Because there's been days...I'm tellin you, days where....
-(The homeless man interrupts him) Maybe I am thinking I wished you would have served too..maybe I am annoyed that you did not, and that you do not know what it is like...but then again, not everyone can take it anyway.
-You think I can't take it? Are you fucking crazy?
-I do not know this, can you?
-I've gone through more shit in my life than you can imagine.
-You are speaking generally...no?
-What'd you just say to me?
-You are starting off with a sentence that does not specifically detail what you have encountered. Stalling.
-Stawwing? You mean stalling?
-Exactly.
-Exactly what?! Why don't you fucking say it right so I can understand what the fuck it is that you're saying. Or better yet, write it on another one of your goddam signs!
-Stalling. You are trying to come up with your story, the "more shit in your life than I can imagine story."
-I'm not fucking anything, you better watch yourself you little Indian fuck.
-I am not Indian thank you, I am Bosnian.
-Bosnian...Indian you're annoying. Pardon my french, but you are. A little Bosnian whatever holding a fucking sign, bothering me and everyone walking by. We all have to feel bad about ourselves because we don't give you attention? I don't need that every time I walk to work in the morning. You're a goddam nuisance. Like getting dog shit on my shoes and I have to scrape it off with my envelope opener.
-You can take a walk then mister buddy, no one is keeping you here.
-I was trying to walk, but you're the one in my face every morning....making me nuts.
-Please. Walk then. I am allowed to stand here and hold my sign. Please.
-Not without criticism you're not, and I'm criticism. Critty-effin-sizzm. Your sign doesn't make you better than me. It doesn't. Hang your bay of pigs out to dry where someone gives a shit. See a psychiatrist. Talk to a friend. Quit whoring yourself out to morning traffic and wasting your life.
-Ok then. Thank you sir.
-See ya...enjoy the day, alright? It's supposed to be a beauty.
-Ok, thank you. I will try.
(The man looks up to the sky holding his sign, the other man striding on, checking his shoes; the morning commute rages on).
