if you can't be witty, then at least be bombastic

“Hey,” said Omar, skipping down the sidewalk waving a screwdriver, “Hey! Kyle! Let me introduce you to someone.” He grabbed me by the arm and lead me across the street to a porch. “You two should meet one another,” he said, “you’re both OBSESSED with me.” A smiling 30something man, balding with thin glasses introduced himself as Greg. “You lost the glasses I gave you,” he said to Omar. “I know I have lost them,” Omar retorts, waving the screwdriver, “I lead a life of ADVENTURE. Kyle takes pictures of me.”

Indeed, I had my iPhone. I'd been snapping photos of him for five years now or more as our paths crossed. I'm thinking I should do a booklet. Or maybe just start tacking photos of him to phone poles along Locust.

Omar deflated here for a moment, a brief one. I brought the camera up and took a photo. As if pushed suddenly, Omar jumped and ran into the street – he started waving at cars, doing some sort of dance, then picked up a stick and broke it in half waving the two ends like a ramp agent guiding 747’s into the gate. “Hey!” he’d shout at the cars, waving the sticks back and forth, “hey! PAY ATTENTION!”

The week earlier I’d seen him standing outside of the local coffee shop with a deck of cards, methodically flinging queens and jacks and diamonds at two patrons on the other side of the glass trying to ignore him. Things catch his eye, he follows them, then he moves on.

“Sometimes I don’t see Omar on my morning jaunt,” says Greg, “and I worry about him.”

“Me too,” I said.

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Be awesome today.

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