“I yam what I yam and that’s all that I yam,” Popeye the Sailor Man.
“Do you want a job?” the middle aged man inquires while idling his pickup with a younger co-worker smiling and digging his pocket for change in the passenger seat. Not the first time someone has asked her this, before departing on the green light without a solid lead.
“What kind of job?” the panhandler replies, curious as always.
“Construction. Heavy work.”
“Got a bad back,” she tells him earnestly; while Streetgirl’s legs carry her well, her vertebral is delicate, has been for years. She may not look like it, but they are of similar age.
“Me too,” without malice he elaborates using enthusiastic hand gestures as she nods in sympathy, “I’ve had five hernias, dislocated my shoulder twice and surgery on both knees.”
The light changes and she reaches to take the coin from his buddy and that’s that. It is what it is!
Who is that homeless girl? 