If Life Hands You Lemons

The man sits on the island between the two broad roads of southern California. He is dirty and brown – long brown hair, long brown beard, clothes brown either from dirt or natural dyes – and he looks hot, sweaty, as homeless people seem to be from the east coast to the west coast. He holds a sign that only the homeless hold, about being hungry and hoping for some spare change for food. But he does not have cancer or AIDS; he is a Vietnam War veteran. And instead of the silent, bent shadows wandering and sleeping on New York streets, this Californian man sits comfortably in the sun, a bit gleeful like the homeless men who sing 50s doo-wop songs of love on the subways. He is optimistic and gives us a thumbs-up sign as I read past the “God Bless” to the last line of his white but slightly brown sign: “Smile, if anything.”


Written: circa Summer 2004