Violin Werewolf

Good read. No lies, no beautification, just the way it is. “The world deems a lot to be trash. Some edible, some still breathing.”


I’m walking beneath an overpass in Austin and at my feet lies a homeless man. He’s in a sleeping bag, pen in hand, scrawling nonsense in a notebook. I’ve seen him every day of this music fest, always in the same spot, always asleep or scribbling. For all I know he’s legless, masturbating, or even a mermaid — he never leaves the bag. At times he gesticulates to an entity only he can see. At others he convulses like a caterpillar caged in its cocoon. He’s often on the sidewalk’s edge, off the road, where the underpass inclines to interstate. Though he lies in something soft, pillars and cement make this man’s home.

Myself and thousands more pass this sight each day. We’re drunk, having fun, trying to fuck. We step around him like a dog shit diaper left unfurled. He acts as an unpleasant reminder that from excess comes waste — detritus best left in the hands of another. But there is…

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