Phoenix
by Dale J. Sprague
Flash Fiction
The Sweeper
Whether cold and rainy or hot and smoggy, he swept the gutters. Every day, rain or shine, he wore an overcoat, a broad brimmed rain hat, and boots, loose and untied. The brim of his ragged hat hung down and nearly blocked his entire face. In its shadow, people saw what they needed to see. It is beaten down, whisker stubbed around a wildly arrayed beard. His face was ruddy and intense. He was intent on what he was doing
He worked in the downtown district with all the busy hotels and theaters. He liked all the busy coming and goings. Long lines of people stood waiting for the matinees. All of them idly chattering. Only a few would pause to cast a questioning glance at him
With a steady rhythm he swept the curbs and guided the trash to its end. He sorted through the debris for anything useable or salable. Even coins and dollar bills showed up once in awhile. The Sweeper knew that the police don’t like the look of anyone grubbing through garbage in public. So he opens the lid of the garbage bin first at the end of the street and sweeps the trash to it
It was a warmer day that day, and he sat on a bus bench near a theater. "Chicago" was playing and people were lining up early for a matinee of it. He sipped his cup of Java hearing the chatter of the people in line across the street mix with the distant honking, breaks squealing, and the familiar rumbling smoking engines. He liked to listen to it all, all the sounds in a kind of soothing chaos as it blended and hung muffled in the smoggy air
The air cracked with a sharp hawking of a hot'dog vendor nearby. He watched the people walking down the street to get in line. He watched them passively as they walked around Buggs. Buggs is reclined mostly on his back. Buggs had located himself just inside a recess of a building with his feet a foot or two out over the sidewalk. Where people stream, you’ll find Buggs trying to dip his cup in its current for a few coins. Of course, there are always a few coins in the cup to suggest that it is appropriate to put more in, and maintaining a few there to suggest that more should be given. The Sweeper noticed that no one was even slowing down for him. People look at Buggs and hardly broke their gate as they stepped over or around him. Buggs had a way of looking pathetic and desperate to solicit those tighs of compassion, but it wasn't doing much good today
The Sweeper liked watching Buggs at work. He has known him for many years. Buggs sleeps a few cots down from him in the Mission shelter. He asked Buggs once why everyone calls him that. The Sweeper already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from Buggs. But when Buggs answered, "occupational hazard," he figured Buggs had more smarts in him than what seemed apparent. All Buggs needed for work was a set of grubby clothes, a beat up tin cup, and a three'day growth on his face
The Sweeper noticed that Buggs doesn’t look very well today. He looked bad enough on the job, but even worse when he gets nothing for his effort. The Sweeper thought maybe when he started to feel upset, he loses his "pathetic look" and people become more inclined to ignore him
More people streamed to the matinee, and like an opening and closing gate, they bunched up at the corner to cross the street. The Sweeper noticed on the corner a strange handmade cart. It was about four feet high, two feet wide, and one foot deep made out of wood, wire, and wheels. On the side of it, pots and pans hung. There was a mirror in front. On the other side, a jacket and a few garments flung. The Sweeper looks around but sees no owner. No one is around it except for a little dog who is moving in and around the people there. They were mumbling and laughing as the dog tried to get the attention of one of them. Obviously, the dog's master was smart enough to remain hidden
The Sweeper noticed one man in the crowd who was amused by the little dog. He was watching the little critter trying to work the crowd, and the dog noticed him and moved directly to him. The dog wore a vest jacket and had a cup in his mouth. He approached the man, sat up and held the cup out. The man was impressed because he pulls out his change purse and put some coins into the cup
Some of the people there paused to look at the man giving the dog some money. The man straightened up and said as he looked up the street in the direction of Buggs, "At least this little guy does something for his money." The people laughed and applauded
The Sweeper thought ‘That’s the way he, himself, is.’ He wondered ‘Doesn’t everyone like to work for their keep? Dogs do.’ The people didn’t know Buggs was working, too. He was the first show they saw that day, and didn’t know it
His broom, his sacks of stuff, these things are always with him. Nearly every day it seemed, the Sweeper cleared the gutters. In drenching rain, what does not go down the drain is scooped up into a city garbage can at the end of the block. He is bent over and moves methodically, deliberately. He has rhythm that seems to suggest a purpose, a plan and goal, almost like he is on some kind of mission. Everyone could plainly see through his grab bags and drab appearance that his work was of some mission, and his ever presence of some integrity. He was a part of the system
The Sweeper thought once more about it, and concluded, "Yes. That's me. I like to work for my keep just like that little dog." The Sweeper sat upon his bench sipping his lunch, and he felt good about the Mission bed and one meal given to him each day. The radiant sun broke through the dull grey. He raised his cup of Java to his lips, and, for a brief moment, let his face be seen in the light