We met up with Slow Slim while he was taking the trash down to the curb.
His hair was messed and blood was gushing from the web between his thumb and index finger.
He paused a little to look at us while globs pattered and melted the fresh snow behind his bare feet.
We never talked to Slim.
We’d just walk by to catch glimpses and see if he’d smile.
Give us a toothless grin –
Or maybe wink.
BLONDE ON BLONDE 