The Bag King is back!
He's got three this time. Disguised bags, or rather bags in a bag. Somewhere in there, he also has clothes, yet when I see him he's always in the same outfit. Same blue Adidas sweats with dark brown mismatched blazer, draped over his long, wispy shape. When he stands in line he stands a head and a half over the people around him, softly grasping a mangled five dollar bill with both hands. He holds the money out the way a thirsty man cups water from a basin to drink; his skinny elbows make such sharp angles that if he were to suddenly thrust one back, I think he might impale the face of the girl behind him.
When he gets to the counter to order, he briefly lowers the scarf that hides his mouth. I hold my breath- finally!-just as he takes a deep one, then another, then one more deep breath. He has a short, scraggy mustache, very defined cheekbones, and no beak.
He bears a passing resemblance to Dave Chapelle.
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