The only men I know personally that don’t want to work are retired. After 40 plus years of busting their ass working, they are going to take what’s left of themselves and play a few rounds of golf, volunteer at the food bank once in a while, watch baseball, and play with their grandkids.

The characters come out at night in the city, and here’s one for this topic. Last night I was waiting for a Port Authority bus near the old gothic jail in dahntahn Pittsburgh after being gutted like a fresh mackerel at a poker game. It was dark, cold, and steadily raining, and I was alone. Then a tall slim man rounded a nearby corner and approached the bus shelter. He was a gaunt man in his thirties or so, with green dyed braided hair. His clothes were colorful, but wet and dirty. “Excuse me mister man, can you spare any change? I’m homeless.” He was weaving and his speech was slurred. “I can give you a buck.” I said while digging out a single for this gentleman’s party fund. He drew up. “Usually they just say ‘Get a job!’, ‘Work for money!’. They try to make me feel small because I don’t work. Like I shouldn’t just ask for money.” “If you don’t ask for something you’re unlikely to get it.” I said handing him the dollar. After losing a C-note playing cards I could give a thirsty wet panhandler a buck. Then the man burst into ranting about his SSI check, and I started to walk to the curb even though I couldn’t tell which bus was still blocks away. It wasn’t my bus, and I slipped behind the shelter away from the vagrant. I heard a groan, and realized that green hair non-working dude was pissing on the shelter. Cheers, buddy.