Patchwork Man

By Bandit 　http://www.banditprinting.com/2009/07/patchwork-man/

MEDIUM Mens Green Patchwork Genuine SUEDE LEATHER VEST
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Duck Head Plaid Shorts Mens size 30 Patchwork Duck Head Jeans Co Mens sz 30 GUC
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Mens American Eagle Plaid Patchwork Shorts size 32 Waist AE
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MENS SZ 36 vtg J CREW MADRAS PLAID PATCHWORK SHORTS $899
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MENS SZ 36 vtg J CREW MADRAS PLAID PATCHWORK SHORTS $499 STRETCHED OUT TO SZ 40
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Gap waist 28 Plaid Patchwork Quilt Shorts pants man
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The Ghost Caste In The Vanishing City

So, your shift at your minimum wage nine to five has just ended and you're thinking that instead of spending hours on the train or blowing your little bit of money on a taxi, you'll just walk home. Great! An opportunity, at last, to truly know the city in which you've begun to make your life. Let us see who welcomes you.

To get home, you'll have to cross the river that divides the successful from the dregs. You'll have to look at their hobo bags and dirt-streaked clothing and acknowledge to yourself that should the machine break down and you missed out on even one paycheck, you'd be right there next to them. But why think of that?

At first she is reluctant to look at them directly, not because the reality makes her uncomfortable, but because she doesn't want to be rude. And then she realizes that rudeness of this sort is still the privilege of her class. The others are used to it, and if someone looking them over means they might get some loose change out of it, all the better.

Their numbers are huge, but if one knows what to look for, one can find threads of similarity that tie them together and make them known to one another. Here, for example, is a man carrying a lace parasol. Here is a man wearing not one but three girls sweatshirts in the middle of summer. They're all dirty, but it's not from an inherent dirtiness, it's because they've burnt garbage to stay alive.

This is just how it is though. She shakes her head and thinks about how thin the brick walls are between the alleys full of the homeless and the shops full of the wealthy, or at least the employed, selling their antique engagement rings and pink pants and pizza by the slice.

In spite of it all, she smiles as she steps to the edge of the sidewalk and throws up her hand in the bell sleeve and hails a taxi to take her off to the 'better' parts of the sprawl, away from the awkward reminders of how close she herself is to the edge, the gulf, the chasm which yawns open under the great city.

This isn't some future dystopia, either. This is your city, and the day is the current day. One can no longer ignore the consequences of the master-slave system under which we all toil. There is relief to be found, but who will look when looking can be enough to land you in the alley? Who will look?

The Patchwork Man and Street Musicians in Istiklal Street