Cheap as Wisdom (PGM) – con’t

And again, the apparent wino is leaning against the glass, before turning back to kick a stone off the curb.

            See that?

            He’s impatient.  Isn’t every drunk?

            That’s just it junior.  They are not.  They sit on the fire hydrant, they lean against the dumpster, they chew down their last cigarette butt and carve the yellow grime out from under their fingernails with a pop top, but what they don’t do is pace around like a goddamn housecat.

            Right.

            But this guy.  This guy’s got some kind of objective, and it ain’t just booze.

            So maybe we ought to have a conversation with him?

            You’re picking up fast Junior.  Let’s see what has our man dancing.

Cheap as Wisdom (PGM)

            The third cup of coffee was starting to take hold, the tumblers and discs in his brain lining up, intuition and insight beginning to flow.

            Now tell me, Castellano.

            Sarge?

            Tell me why this character would be waiting in front of a liquor store at 8 a.m. on a weekday morning.

            Because he’s a drunk?

            Incorrect.

            Incorrect.  Incorrect.  The place opens at 9, so he’s killing time, waiting to buy a pint or whatever so he can get his day off on the right foot.

            Look at him.

            Yeah?

            The young cop tugged lightly on the soft fringe of his beard, staring through the windshield at the pacing, gray-coated figure.

            Watch him.  Watch.

            After a few steps, the pacing man paused in front of the door, leaned against the glass with cupped hands over his eyes, hanging there for a moment as if attached by suction.

            What time is it?

            About quarter to.

            So this wino, even if he doesn’t have a watch, this wino knows what time this place opens every morning because he’s a regular wino and this is where he picks up his regular boost.

            Sure.

            So unless he’s really hurting.  I mean unless the screws are really being put to him, he knows what time this place opens better than the owner.  He’s a drunk alarm clock.  Every morning, same time.  His body walks him here on automatic pilot from wherever the hell he sleeps, church basement, SRO, whatever.

            I get it Sarge.

            So watch.  Watch.