The homeless guy at the Gym
The homeless guy was easy to see to those who weren’t wearing headphones.
A coat once seen in a JC Penny’s ad. One of those sort-of-puffy, members only jackets a character from an 80’s flick would rock. But his face. Dead white and puffy. Greasy — the fat part of bacon.
The brown coat, his trademark. That and dirty blue jeans stumbling past weight machines conducted by those in bright shorts and “bum shirts” — only for the gym kind of shirts. The sleek shine of his dirt brown hair.
Clearly leaving the shower. His shower; surely an owner to a self-assigned booth. If I were to guess, it’d be closest to the door.
The sin of judgment got the best of me. A man down to his 50 dollar a month gym membership — His last home base. Off to his car. He didn’t appear to be a mini-van sort, he was too short. I assume a pick-up. Dodge.
Another night of uncertainty. Good luck, John Doe.