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Writer's picturePaula F. Hill

the Poncho Man


He stood on the corner, soaking up the rain with his poncho. Merrily meandered to my car, reaching out for whatever item came his way; fingerless gloves, a dickey (you know what that is, right? If not, it's a mock turtleneck, just the chest, back and neck are sufficiently covered with wool) and cozy scarf. Everything disappeared under the poncho, as though it were the magician's black bag, filling a bottomless pit. and Chocolate bars.

He was cheerful and exceedingly grateful to accept whatever goodies I offered, except when it came to the tampons, pads, and wet wipes. He said "um, I'm not a female!"

"Yes, I can see that. Would you be willing to pass them along?"

"I can't remember the last time I could give someone a gift, that'd be incredible! Thanks so much!"

I drove on, realizing there was a bit of a line of cars behind me at the light. Figured no one would care to wait a few extra minutes while stuff miraculously appeared from the window and into the arms of the Median Marshall.

I want to dance with Glee. I feel like I've just watched the "Sound of Music" and sang along. It makes me feel so light-hearted and cheerful. I want to tell everyone to donate their shit because of the euphoria that follows. It lasts for days on end. Then you have to find more stuff in the attic, basement, hall closets, bathroom cabinet, under-the-stairs cubby, glove box recess for more "finds."

The rush is like a drug (or what i'd imagine that feels like) where you just have to keep giving and giving, and finding, and giving to get a HIGH.

The endorphins kick in and you can't quit.

Do that, and tell me about it!!

I just love a good story, you know!


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