Please. No more Balloons!

He was laying face down in front of the laundry mat. Face obscured in his hoody he was COMPLETELY passed out. A young man in his early 20’s I would guess, he was COMPLETELY thrashed. His bare feet scraped and bloody with large rotted brown overgrown toenails on his big toes like claws. He was so completely thrashed that he seemed to have melted into the concrete with his face somehow completely hidden. He might be dead. There is no visible movement.  He was on display like a collapsed statue.  Absolutely defeated.  Utterly collapsed and limp.

I feel fortunate not to be him. This guy had definitely hit ROCK bottom.
There was no further down he could go. Things could not get any worse for this young man. Corpses in coffins looked much much healthier.

People walk by to do their laundy trying not to look. He may have been beaten in a gang initiation or he may have drank himself unconscious or he may have been murdered, but there he was, his underwear half showing above his pants. Filthy would be an understatement, just as “thrashed” would be an understatement. Had he just crossed the border from Mexico? What travails had befallen him? I looked to see if he was breathing since nobody else was, and he did seem to show some signs of life. I think people were scared to even look. Load the washer, load the dryer, don’t look. Keep walking.  People made wide sweeping arcs to walk as far away as possible when they turned the corner there.

Don’t care. Don’t care.

I left him a flower, some balloons and a hallmark card from the minimart next door.

“Get well soon!” it said.

When I drove by an hour later, he was covered completely in flower arrangements and balloons.
You could only see his feet poking out, gnarled and thrashed.

I put out a collection plate for him so he could build up some equity, capitalize on his new found
social presence and develop a revenue stream.

The sign read, “Please, no more balloons!”

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