| “Hey, Rudy, come on over!” The voice belongs to Rob, the three hundred pound homeless man on my block.
Rob thinks of himself not only as an entrepreneur, but also as a fellow artist. When he is in his creative mood, he fills page after page with large XXXXes and YYYYs, from top to bottom.
Today, Rob is in his entrepreneurial mood. He does not want to show me his art. He wants my money.
Why do I know that, before he even says a single word? Well, last night, Angelika and I were sitting at the window of our favorite Chinese restaurant on Columbus Avenue, enjoying a Hunan Flower Steak. Suddenly, big bangs on the glass window next to me made my head fling around in a reflex move. Rob’s broad grin of his almost toothless mouth was barely a single foot away from my chewing face. He raised his hands with his two thumbs up, signaling, “I approve of what you’re doing there”.
*
Rob is no ordinary New York bum. He is much too proud to beg for
money. No, Rob has style; he feels to be your equal. He always offers your money’s worth in return, usually in the form of a found object in a garbage can on our street, or some useless paraphernalia that one of the neighbors left for him to sell.
“Rudy, have a look at this one. The perfect gift for your wife.”
He fumbles in his various oversized pockets, from where he extracts a plastic bag containing a solid brass alarm clock that looks unusually precious.
“Don’t show me anything, please. I’m in a hurry.” I reach in my pocket, pull out my purse, and hand him two dollars. Now we are even.
But Rob isn’t happy. His pride compels him to give me something in return for my money. He thinks for a moment.
“Hey, Rudy, I have to tell you, that painting that your son did, and that he
was carrying with him yesterday, it is beautiful. Do you know that? That painting must be worth at least ten or fifteen thousand dollars.” He pauses for a second to let the importance of his works sink in. Then he continues.
“Know what? Come to think of it, I actually know some people who would
just pay that kind of money for such a beautiful work of art. I’m going to tell them.”
“Please do that,” I shout back over my shoulder, as I rush on, making a mental note to tell my son about this fabulous offer… |