l****n
发帖数: 6896 | 1 【 以下文字转载自 Seattle 讨论区 】
发信人: lesson (Subrideo, cras erit peius.), 信区: Seattle
标 题: A Hobo's Thanksgiving（别排队，这是短篇小说，sort of）
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Thu Nov 22 10:14:35 2012, 美东)
Joe leaned forward, pressed his body weight against the right arm to help
pushing open the heavy glass door of the bank building. It's just over 6:00
AM, the 8th St. was still shy hidden in the shadows of the early morning sun
. The cool air stabbed him in his face, froze his ears, and almost made him
want to retreat back into the building. But he couldn't, his buddy, Tony's
shift was almost over, Joe couldn't be caught in the building during the day
. He knew better than to bring Tony any trouble for letting him spend the
night inside. He just kept walking out of the building and onto the 8th St.
Joe used to work in this bank as the department head of personal financing
until 9 months ago, when he was caught and fired for misconduct. On top of
that, at the age of 43, he ended his 15-year marriage and lost everything to
his adulterous but smart-enough-to-hire-a-good-lawyer ex-wife, and soon
followed by loosing the roof over his head.
Tony, a security guard and his old-time football buddy, would sometimes let
him spend the night in the mail room in the basement, when Tony's on
graveyard, that is. And in return, Joe'd help Tony with his tax returns,
loans, and yard work. Joe considered himself blessed, compared to other
hobos he got to know from under the 520 bridge in Medina. Because from time
to time, he'd have hot showers, hot coffee, pastry, and he could even find
some decent leftovers and what not in the dumpsters by the loading dock at
the back of the building. Better yet, it's close to 405 exit on 8th, where
he "worked."
"I live like a king.", he once bragged in front of his fellow hobos, who'd
consider themselves lucky if they could manage to rumble up a spot under the
bridge.
But not this morning. He hadn't had any luck for 3 days now. And this is
Thanksgiving Day, there wouldn't be a lot of foot traffic on the streets.
Another long, cold day, he thought to himself. But it's ok, because good
days were coming he knew. Shopping season was here, and it's always good for
businesses, and for people like Joe.
Just as he was about to turn the corner, an Asian-looking woman came his
way. Joe became hopeful. With the cardboard sign under his left arm, he
approached the woman with his right arm extended out, palm up. He spoke to
the woman using the only Chinese word he knew, in an almost apologetic voice
"Baozi?"
The woman was startled at first, but soon she shined a warm smile to Joe and
fished out a baozi from her purse. Just as Joe was about to take it from
her, a shadow appeared from nowhere and grabbed the boazi from the woman. "
Thank you, ma'am.", Joe heard the shadow murmur.
From the broad shoulders and heavy build, Joe recognized that this was
Winner2012. Word on the street was that Winner2012 was a former Navy Seal
suffering PTSD from his last tour to Afghanistan. Everybody called
Winner2012 "Leroy" because he was exactly like the "Baddest man in the whole
downtown" as sung in Jim Croce's song, "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown."
If there was one thing Joe learned from the life on the streets, it was don'
t get into a fight. Any injury, or sickness for that matter, would deny one
from the ability of seeking for food or shelter. And out here on the streets
, just like animals in the jungle, loosing the ability of taking care of
oneself could bring about much bigger problems, like deaths.
Joe lowered his head, avoided eye contact with Leroy, turned away, and
walked on. "This is Thanksgiving. There's gotta be more baozi today.", he
comforted himself with a promise as shaky as the last few leaves left on
the trees on the sidewalk. | b*****l
发帖数: 8603 | 2 呵呵 这两个英语故事编的真巧妙 佩服！
只是背景有些复杂，为了看懂还专门到seattle board考了考古 ：） |
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