A Stock Broker and Junkie Sit On A Park Bench

 

 

 

 

Like the beginning of a bad joke a broker takes a seat on a park bench near a junkie. Children play and chase one another while innocence fills the summer air. The junkie watches without movement while the broker opens the business section of a fresh paper and mumbles to himself about an article.

“Finally, a significant amount in a stimulus package.”

“Krugman says it still won’t be enough”, the junkie says as he watches a boy push down a small girl in a sundress.

The broker turns to examine the clumped, weather-matted dreadlocks.

“You seem like a smart guy. What are you doing out here?”

The junkie removes a few pieces of bread from his canvas bag and begins throwing crumbs to the pigeons as they surrounded the bench.

“I use to work around here.”

“Where?” the broker asks while folding the paper back together and placing it back in his leather briefcase.

“Behind us.”

“The Schuster building?”

“No, the big one next to it. The one with the fountain.”

The broker turns to examine the magnificent feat of architecture while the grey continued inching its way through the dreadlocks sitting, fixed on the feeding pigeons.

“I had a corner office on the 12^th floor overlooking the Schuster’s gardens. The valets name is Russell. He has two young boys, one of them is an all star little leaguer. His wife left him for a party clown a few years back.”

“What are you doing here? A guy that worked in that building doesn’t belong on a park bench feeding wild animals.”

“Fired.”

“Wife? Kids?”

“She left me and took our daughter to live with her mother in Santa Ana. It was too much for me at the time. I drank more and more and that’s when I got this damn needle stuck in my arm.”

The extreme heat caused sweat to perspire from his forehead and much of it seemed to gather above his top lip as he spoke. There it was, the giant fix protruding from his arm, glistening in the warm summer light like the great Excalibur in the stone. Lodged deep in his vein,the needled served as nothing more than as a dangerous obstacle for passing civilians. Perhaps caution cones were sufficient to prevent any accidents. How the broker missed it before baffled him. “I have to help somehow,” he thought, staring at the massive burden.

“Maybe I can help you,” he said setting his briefcase down and rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

The junkie placed his arm out and sat silently as the broker wrapped his hands around the shaft.

“Maybe if I put my foot on the bench and you put your foot on my knee…”

He was going to be a hero, a savior. He would be a model to society, a great ambassador of sympathy and giving. If this was the Excalibur then he would be Arthur. Surely this would be the event that sealed the deal with St. Peter. Of course he had been no angel and had done what was needed of him to secure his position in the world of the living but what would become of him when this was over? He had his eternity in mind and when the moment came this would be the easy out clause, the deal breaker.

St. Peter would flip through his golden book and say, “ You stole money from…You cheated on your wife with…”

“But lord, I saved the junkie that day in the park! And you saw the cans on that intern!”

With all his might he pulled as he felt the junkie's foot press into his leg. Stopping for a moment he wiped the sweat from his hands on the side of his Dockers khakis.

“Wow, it sure is in there deep!” the broker said, eying the syringe.

“Its been in there for some time now. Your not the first to try pal. My mother tried, my father before her. He used crowbars, chisels, hammers, saws, nothing worked. My preacher used prayer. I even got some professionals to check it out. I paid them a lot of money.”

“I’ll get it out.”

“Whatever you say stranger.”

An hour passed. Then two. Then three and the broker made his last stand. He had tried hammers, help from fellow passers by, even borrowed a jack hammer from the workers at the construction site across the park. The needle still lay dormant, motionless, not a shutter. Falling to the bench the broker sat with his face in his hands.

“Come on now man, don’t let it get you down. Like I said you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last. Hell, I try every night.” The junkie patted him on the back.

Without a word the broker stood from the wooden bench, straightened his tie, picked up his briefcase and walked away. As he walked through the park the children still were playing, birds were singing and flowers bloomed. Somewhere Russell’s children were being beatin with an oversized shoe by a drunken clown and his son was to be the next Hank Aaron. Reaching in his bag once more the junkie removed two more slices of wheat bread and life went on.

 

 

Reviews

[Vitamin A]

I really enjoy this, I feel like it says a lot about humanity. The opening paragraph is my favorite, it seems to set everything up so perfectly.

"Reaching in his bag once more the junkie removed two more slices of wheat bread and life went on." Great ending. The "and life went on" seems to represent so many things.

Well done.

[Coyote Poetry]

The story was very good. The conversation made the poem a powerful read. I like the discussion and the ending. Many stories are there in a life. I tell my children never rate or judge another. Never know why they are where they are. A outstanding story. Thank you.
Coyote

[CircusNerd]

wow, i love this story. now i probably am taking a long shot on this one, but it seems to me that this represents human being's innate flaw. i just read a shortened version of The Grail a while ago, and seeing as how he talking about being Arthur with the Excalibur, it reminded me of Perceval with the Grail, how he was able to see it, but because of his imperfection he could not attain it when he went to the magic castle. in any case, this story really summed up what it means to be human, to be selfless and greedy together, and to be futilely tenacious for a ridiculous cause. thanks for the great read :)

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

A very well written story. Thank you for sharing. Debileah

[Kelsey Desmond]

I enjoyed the writing, but the beginning needs a little help. It didn't draw me in. I wouldn't be a true reviewer if I just talked about the amazingness of the middle and end of the piece, which it definitely was. But y one suggestion to improve this writing would be to work on a better hook. Great use of metaphor and meaning in the work, though.

[great banbu]

This was such a thought provoking story. All of your stories have a way of doing that. Another wonderful read!

[London Calling]

Apart from a few SPAG issues, I found this piece morose but hillarious! So true to life! Gets one thinking so my brain thanks you!

[Pit]

F**k verb tenses. Well written.

[N]

This is very interesting. It says a lot about humanity; most of which I agree with.
This story has depth and it is very unique. Well done.
I especially thought that the dialogue was very well written.
Great job.

[Kathryn]

Interesting piece. Liked the characters and the weird sense of humor about the whole thing. Well written story.

Somewhere between the beginning and the end you switched verb tenses and that really bothered me. You went from present tense (broker takes a seat, junkie watches, broker turns...) to past tense (STARTS AT "heat caused sweat"). I would suggest going back and changing the beginning to past or keeping the present tense all the way through.

Grammar fixes:
clumped, [weather-matted] dreadlocks
asks[,] while[take out ,] folding the paper
inching [its] way through the dreadlocks sitting[,] fixed on
the [junkie's] foot press into his leg
the broker said[, eying] the syringe
[You're] not the first to try pal

[Flo_writer]

I liked the metaphor you used to describe how addicted the junkie was. A needle portraying Excalibur as everyone tried and fail to extract. Guess there was no Author in this story, Camelot has not yet found his king. Although you didn't brand a name on the junkie I think it's only fitting to call him Camelot.