So I'm sitting in Dupont Circle, waiting for Bryan to get off class, and flipping through a book of Bukowski poetry. Dupont Circle is where all the.. um.. homeless (is that still pc?) hang out, and to be honest, I always feel pretty safe there. The ratio of body building gay men to skinny homeless guys is pretty even, so I don't think they take much notice of me. Even if they did it might be in a strange, ornothological way.
This really kind looking black guy ambles up and introduces himself as "B.P" and shakes my hand, sits down and asks if I'm reading poetry, and then asks what I'm going to do with the book after. I answer (as honestly as I can, hearing how lame the words sound when this guy is pushing a grocery cart with his life in it..) that I'll probably put it on a shelf somewhere. B.P tells me he trades books around, so that he can read more. Also remarks that he just got out of jail, that they had a pretty good library there. I told him that if I finished my book by the weekend, that I would gladly trade him, for anything he had that he thought I might like.
B.P. says, with all the honesty in the world, "I'm just finishing this one book, it's really changed my life. I love it. But I'll trade it. It's about Feng Shui."
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