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The man swallows and opens his gob. His baby-carriage filled with the random detritus of his life has already been turned over and he’s climbed atop it. He bellows forth with a low, loud scream that’s more of a rumble and eyes simultaneously turn toward and away from him in that way that city-dwellers know to avoid the insane folks wandering the streets – looking at first because they’re surprised by the noise and vaguely interested in what his particular brand of crazy is; diverting their eyes in case he attempts to hit them up for money.
This man is different, though; he’s got his baby carriage like many of the homeless people these days (Where do they get them? There’s been a lot of homeless people with these lately, and it seems like an odd, though probably convenient, thing for them to have. But, still, was there a baby carriage factory fire where they had to be thrown out, where they were taken and repurposed into possession-holders?) – though they’re typically not upturned like his – and he’s got garbage bags full of various possessions, but on the other hand, he’s dressed much better than your average insane bum.
As his scream finishes, he shifts to steady himself on the tippy carriage, and lets forth another one; this one even lower than the first. When that one finishes, he starts hopping up and down on the carriage, kicking the air like he’s practicing martial arts, and finally deigns to use actual words instead of frightening, almost inhuman bursts of pained noise.
The swears drip from his lips like delicious melted butter; he is clearly practiced in this particular art, even if it unclear what he’s railing against. Most of his diatribe is directed at some vague “you”; who apparently should get fucked and is a motherfucker, a cunt, and a motherfucking cunt. This “you” doesn’t seem to be any particular passerby, as he doesn’t focus on anyone while he speaks his oratory. In fact, it is unclear whether or not “you” is even in the same vicinity as the man. The only indication that “you” even exists is that he is more worked up than you’d expect someone to be over someone imaginary.
The invective gets more and more intense, and people even cross the street to avoid him. This offends him even more that no one wants to hear about how “you” has wronged him, but he never stops to think that people might be more amenable to his plight if he’d actually release any details on what exactly “you” has done or even any details on “you”, so other people could avoid being burned by him or her.
As another woman crosses the street to detour around him, he starts hopping up and down even more fiercely. He stares solidly in one direction and leaps from his carriage and takes off. To the best of anyone’s knowledge, he’s found “you”, and people actually stop to watch, safe in the knowledge that he’s obviously not interested in money. No one is in his path, and he runs in a straight line, disregarding lanes of traffic or sidewalks. He must have excellent vision, as no one can see his target nearby. A few braver people slowly walk around the corner to watch as he runs. It’s unclear what he’s running at, although it must be nearby, because the shoreline is about three blocks away, and he’s headed straight for the water with no signs of slowing.