Moments: Kill or Bee Killed

It’s early afternoon in Sunset Park. Sun beats down on the pavement, cutting through leaves and trees. There’s the sound of hissing cicadas and laughing children in the distance.

Underneath the shade, a homeless man stands alone near a park bench. He’s wearing black Adidas sweatpants and a green Mexican Football Team jersey. He has on a bucket hat with the word “MEXICO” stitched in black. He smells of sweat and alcohol.

His cart of belongings, parked in front of him, is stuffed with takeout bags. There’s also a blue and white umbrella, a dusty red and white jumper, a broom, and the Argentinian, Mexican, and American flags hanging from the side of the cart.

“Bitch!” he yells, “I got your ass now!”

Dust swirls at his feet as he swipes furiously with his green fly swatter, hitting one of the plastic bags hanging from his cart. He beats the bag for a minute before finally stopping and smiling to himself.

“Ho ho ho,” he bellows, “I got that bee now! Now that bee won’t give us any more trouble.”

Satisfied, he places the swatter into his cart and sits down. He reaches to his right and picks up a can of beer. The can has the word CRAZE printed on it. He takes a swig of it and sighs.

But before long he’s back on his feet, his can of beer still in hand. He snatches the fly swatter with his other and begins to swipe violently at his feet once more — the resulting cloud of dust coating his black high-top sneakers.

“Where do they keep coming from?” he shouts as he looks around him. He swats once at his feet, then at his bag, then at the bench, and back again at his feet. This continues for the next couple of minutes.

“These fucking bees better get out of here!”

A police cop car creeps up behind him, skipping the sidewalk and squeezing past two bushes.

The cop brakes as he pulls up beside the man. He rolls down his window and says a few, inaudible words just as the homeless man stops to listen. He looks at the cop with large, scared eyes. His nostrils flare as he stares back.

The cop quickly finishes what he has to say. His voice is calm but authoritative. The homeless man nods obediently in response. He sits back down on the bench.

The cop rolls his window back up, returns to his wheel, and begins to slowly inch forward once again. He drives away as the homeless man watches.

It isn’t long before the man is back in the same routine — swatting at his feet, screaming, sitting back down, and taking another swig of beer.

“Man, fuck these bees. You ain’t coming back no more! You’re gone for good!”