"But there was a dramatic shift in my street relationships when Howard, the boys, and I were finishing renovations on the apartment. That whole week, no body hit on us for money. Instead, panhandlers grinned and nodded when they passed them during errands and lunch breaks, as though we were old comrades. Maybe they only solicit suburban communters, I thought, and now recognize us as neighbors. Then I realized how we were dressed: paint-splattered t shirts, sweaty kercheifs, shoes covered with sawdust and spakle. Crash's work outfit was truly special--Howard had grabbed a pair of old sweats from the Goodwill pile in Connecticut and didn't discover the cord was missing till he put them on in NY. We searched the vacant apartment for a peice of string or elastic, but all we came up with from work supplies was a roll of duct tape. Even the crazies panhandlers weren't tempted to solicit change for a guy wearing a cumberbund of silver duct tape" (Random essay in City Life, p.35).
So there. Now give me five dollars.
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