Conversation With a Homeless Guy at the Bank:

I'm walking into the bank. The entranceway is a long hallway and there's this homeless guy sitting in the corner, just beneath one of the heating vents. As I walk by I do the what's-up-nod and, with a smile, he yells, "What up, baby?! What did you bring me?!" I stop walking and say, "I don't know. Tidings of joy?" He eyes me with mock-suspicion and says, "Weelll...I'll let it slide this time. Damn, it is cold. It is damn cold." I look up at the vent and say, "Looks like you found the cozy spot, though." He shakes his head, disgusted: "Hell no, they turned that off. They tryin' to freeze me out." I'm a little surprised by this. I ask, "They turned it off because you're in here?" "Eventually they did," he says. "But first they called the cops on me, tried to scare me off. When I wouldn't budge they shut down the heat." I look in the bank and say, "Maybe when I'm in there I'll find the thermostat, secretly turn it back on. I'll go into ninja mode and turn it up to 90." He laughs and says, "Do that!" As I'm about to move on a bank customer walks by, leaving the building. He gives me angry eye-contact and mutters, "Nice goin'. Encourage the guy." Whoa. I'm too caught off guard by the assholery to offer up a coherent response, so I just say, "Fuck off, Shirley." He keeps walking, the homeless guy says, "Nah, he's allright. He's not one of them, so it don't matter." Them? Bank employees? Security? "Who's 'them'?" I ask. He looks around the hallway slowly and answers, "Secret police. Clinton's got them watching me. They're all over." Oh. He's all serious now so I try to lighten the mood by smiling and saying, "Secret police? Dude, what did you do?" He stays in serious mode. In a monotone voice, he says, "Nunya. Know what that means? None ya' business." Fair enough. "That's true," I tell him. After an awkward silence I say, "Anyway, I'm off. Take care of yourself." He leans back against the wall, hugs himself for warmth, says, "Peace to ya'."