Happy thanksgiving

Over the sidewalk and through the doors . . . to McDonald’s on Clark, a few blocks from the house, 11:30 or so yesterday. Place hopping, full of families, 50-ish cronies and others, chatting, laughing.

Beggar by the door, inside where it’s warm, quiet,  reaching into bin as people dump trays on way out. Inspects items, in case something worth while.

I’d refused him a buck a day or so ago, we both then seated at counter near the door. Irish-looking guy, red-faced and roughly dressed but warmly enough and not tattered. 50-ish, bloodshot eyes. Not here, I’d said. On the street another matter.

Happy thanksgiving.

Overhead Silent Night . . . ’round young virgin . . . sleep in heavenly peace.

Beggar man looks over at counter, where Mexican women, mamas the lot of them, work. As if called over. Returns shortly, holding something in hand, heads for door onto sidewalk, disappears beyond the Dunkin’ Donuts sign next door.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas , , ,

Then from across the room, mother-fucker and what the fuck and raucous laughter, loud enough to fill the air. I turn and see two black teens and a Mexican teen their in a booth, one of the blacks finding something on his phone, Mexican kid finding him hilarious.

Sharp reminder of the vulgar world outside, a rare disturbance of  a quiet scene.

I turn back, wondering. Then silence. Look again, booth empty. Vulgar boys gone! Did one of the Mexican mamas tell them to leave?

Overhead: Most holy night . . . fall on your knees . . . night divine, oh night when Christ was born.

Happy Thanksgiving.

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