Monday, October 08, 2007
An old bum on Grant Street could not sense an entire Columbus Day parade of dragons and monsters and drum-beaters and yellow-clad Chinese girls standing in the backs of pickup trucks, clashing cymbals; he just sat on the edge of a tree box and his head was on his trembling hands; and he shook it whenever there was a concussion of drumbeats or firecrackers in the street beside him, not understanding this loud night world of cheers and Chinese families waving Taiwanese and American flags and child-orchestras and marching woman; he was blinded in himself- but when I gave him twenty-two cents he looked up, and although he could not see me or acknowledge me, he began counting the money very rapidly and practically. We are all anchored by something. Most of us are anchored by money.
Excerpt from "The Rainbow Stories by William T. Vollmann