Shorty

He was a little guy who used to live next door to me. He always sat on a car battery in the hallway. His age was hard to guess – he never went anywhere and therefore never carried any of the paraphernalia which might associate him with work or school. He had a magnificent set of teeth. He displayed them in a constant grin, almost a death grin. If you wondered what he had to smile about it was the heroin sloshing through his veins. His mom kept him locked out of the house most of the time. That's why he was in the hall. When he wanted in he would bang on the door for hours, yelling, “Open the door, Man.” Sometimes his mother would. One of those times, he broke her jaw. On another he kidnapped a runaway girl and held her hostage for a day or so. He was apprehended and sent to prison. His mother moved away. When he returned from prison he didn't have any teeth. The beautiful smile was gone. Not a tooth was left in his head. His mother was also gone. He would still sit on his car battery in the hallway, but he no longer banged on the door shouting, “Open the door, man.” Once he strode up and down the middle of the street on Ninth Avenue shouting, “I'll slice you up.” He was waving a box cutter or something that looked like one from a third story window. He was last spotted at Columbus Circle smoking a cigarette. What the hell is he still holding on to?