the blind man

So, I’s hangin’ out in the usual place—mindin’ my own business—doin’ the usual kinda thing, ya know? “Gotta buck? A quarter? No?” An’ this guy shows up an’ he says, “So, you wanta be cured?” Now what am I supposed to say, huh? I mean here I am surrounded by all these people who’d heard me moanin’ and groanin’ all the time. I didn’t have a choice! So I say, “Yeah”—figurin’ you know, what the hey.

An’ then this joker cures me. I mean all of a sudden I can see. It’s horrible! Bright? Ooooh. An’ everybody’s uglier than they sound. An’ this guy who cured me? He wasn’t no prize—standin’ there with this silly grin on his face like he was expectin’ me to thank him or somethin’. An’ I did. I did. But boy, I didn’t feel like it.

I mean think about it. Here I am some forty odd years old, an’ this guy comes ’round an’ takes away my livelihood. I was a good beggar. Knew what to wear—where to be—how to sound. An’ now? Man, who gives money to an ex-blind man? It don’t work. An’ I got no idea what people who can see do for a livin’. I never been one. So now I’m worse off than I was before ’cause some guy thought he was doin’ me a favor. He’d a actually done me more good if he’d a made me cripple in addition to bein’ blind. But no, he had to go ruin things for me.

I hear he’s been doin’ that to a lot of folks—all over the country. Jerkin’ them out of their day to day—rearranging all their securities for ’em. Makin’ ’em see in a completely different way.

Then I hear folks talkin’ ’bout how nice an’ friendly he is. Well, I wonder—I gotta wonder—has he really touched them?

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