448
GERALD ROSEN
Camera One
I turn off the car lights and the street darkens. Lock the car
and walk gingerly toward the hotel. As I pass a thin alley between
the hotel and the house preceding it, "Hey, man," comes out of the
black.
"What?"
"Hey, man, I need some change to make dinner. You got
thirty-five cents?"
In
the pocket of my pants, two coins. Both quarters.
"Here," I take out one of the coins. "Here's a quarter. That
ought to start you on your way."
He takes the quarter, looks
it
over
in
the dim light as I turn
away. A hand on my shoulder.
"I said, man, 1 need thirty-five cents."
"Look, 1 gave you a quarter...."
He moves out of the alley. A glint of steel flashes in the thick
gloom. A straight razor. From out of his sleeve. He backs me against
the wall, holding the razor low, at his hip. His bright eyes reflect
off the blade.
"I said
thirty-five,
man. Not
twenty-five."
"OK. You've got me. Take it easy. Don't get excited." I reach
into my pocket and hand him the second quarter. "Here. This is the
only other coin I've got."
"OK, man. That's a little bit better. Now we're getting down
to business."
He folds the razor and places it
in
the breast pocket of the old
sport jacket he
is
wearing. From out of the same pocket he removes
another object. A pair of clear-rimmed Army glasses. God only knows
where he got them. He puts them on and brings his left hand out
of the pocket of his baggy pants. It's full of small change.
"Now let's see now," he says. "Put out your hand here, man."
I place my hand
in
front of him, palm up, and, one by one, count–
ing each aloud to himself, he places upon
it
a nickel and ten pennies.
"Now that's a little more like it," he says, as he puts the re–
maining coins back in his pocket and fades back into the blackness
of the alley.
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