It was larger than the man, and he was carrying it sideways with the cross bar positioned over a shoulder. He was slumped a bit. Or maybe it was a she. Either way. I did like a quadruple take. It seemed like something out of a low-budget indie film where everyone is just a little too quirky and the soundtrack includes one-hit wonders by shoe-gazers. Especially since it was Good Friday and you know. Blah blah 16 years of Catholic schools.
It was also a bit like a hallucination. It sounded like I was lying when I told people.
I saw this again a few days later, which was weirder because it was after Easter by now and so I knew it was real and not just a traumatic brain injury or like smelling rotten eggs or a metallic taste in your mouth before seizing.
Anyway, we walked to the grocery store today and there was a guy standing on the corner of Grand and Central Avenue.
"Let's cross to the other side," Chuck said.
"No way," I said.
He tried to give us some reading material, but I declined politely and he politely didn't push the issue. I suppose hoisting that cross makes it tough to really chase people down, tackle them and stuff pamphlets into their larynx.