The Silverman Shuffle : Union Square, NYC

The silverman stands still waiting for a drop of money in his postal service container. I explain to the children how a typewriter works and thus ruin a line. He must stay so still for so long the silverman. It was raining today and the square is not so busy. But the sun is trying to come out. The clouds are burning away and the day is being the day. How long can he stand still and staring with no one around? No one walking in front to even pause and look out of sheer curiosity. He's got an iron will but his smile is fading. It takes many muscles to hold that up. The kids throw coins into the spittoon of a fountain and one needs to tie his shoe because it is time to go. Once you are outside and sitting you - buttons for a dollar, buy three and get one free.

The silverman takes his show to the shade or he's going to sweat all his silver off. Black leather hat photographer. The lone man mystic exalting the word of god to no one. His congregation: a woman purple jacket tweaked face silent; the corduroy book reader. These are all. God, I give you one day, just one day God. And everyone goes about their business. A man sweeps water. His hair is curly fuzzed close to his head. Texting on a bike, slowly fixed-gear ratios. Drummer starts to drum by the tall man on green iron horseback. The squirrels are bold and domestic, sit on their haunches expectant. Hardcore billing forty hours a week. Floating conversations pass on quick walking feet. Umbrella, a mustache, a sachel. The old man walks white-haired. Brown green faded floral girls with curly hair. Cowbell syncopation. Business suit, earphone, suitcase. God and women! My first record man, very good music, where do you live? Barcelona. Fifteen songs for five dollars, this is how I survive.

My mind so slow and the black preacher speaking salvations and dalmations. Damnations, pardon. A man carries a stone like a waiter upon his shoulder upturned hand and walking. Another crosses his path carrying a box of Cholula sauce like a waiter, on his shoulder, upturned hand and walking. Where the hell are you man? At a concert? no sweat, see you later. You go on the internet, I'm sure. Sometimes, yeah.