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I was having an existential crisis, so I decided to go out on the streets and, you know, rave. As soon as I got outside I dropped my keys and wallet down the sewer and headed off to pawn my greatcoat. As I walked, I wondered what a greatcoat was. I figured I’d just pawn my parka. That was probably the same thing. I started thinking about imagery for my madness and desperation. I settled (with grave desperation, mind you) on a spider spinning a web within my skull. Each concentric ring of the web represented a new thought in my mad, sweaty head. For instance, in the very center of the web there was a thought about the girl with the red dress who strolled down Vergenstrasse most evenings. How beautiful, how mysterious she was! Would I ever have the courage to reveal my humble longing? Next out from the center was a thought about the dangerous and controversial essay I had written as a student called “Where There’s a Will to Power, There’s a Way to Power”. Next out was a thought about the local book merchants, Barnes and Noble, and the latter's wife’s Sacejewea sized nipples.

I entered through a dingy door into the pawnbroker’s shop. I hoped to get a few pennies for my greatcoat so I might perhaps get a crust of bread with butter and a tiny room for the night, to shelter against the coming frost. But the shrewd pawnbroker sat behind the counter and did not even raise his eyes to meet me as I entered. The plunge of failure filled my throat as I took off my parka-like greatcoat and put it on the counter. I nearly began to weep as the realization that I was lost washed over me. Utter defeat was now clear. All my hopes and dreams, that folly I had allowed myself to believe, now stood before me as a beaten slave, defeated, surrendered and utterly destroyed!

“Whoah, is this CB?” The pawn broker must have stood up and come to the counter. He was examining my greatcoat. “I’ll give you two hundred and fifty for it.”

He counted out the money and placed it on the counter. My heart leapt into my chest, or rather it stayed there, but beat faster. I picked up the bank notes, bowed deeply and backed out of the shop in silence.

The sky was gray and damp. A chill settled on the dark city. As I stumbled down toward the piers, the raw wind penetrated my thin Polo shirt and set a shiver in my bones. The oddest images appeared as if in a kaleidoscope before me. I’m well within my rights to not tell you what they were, but trust me they were the oddest! Perhaps it was too late for me already. Madness was setting in. I hadn’t eaten a crust of bread in forty minutes and my hunger had weakened me.

And then, in an instant I remembered the two hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket. Perhaps it would be enough to buy a crust of bread. It was my only chance. I limped toward the corner deli, hunched from hunger and illness.

On the corner I saw a young girl, no older than forty-five. It was obvious that some dishonorable gentleman had lured the poor child to the city, taken away her virtue and abandoned her to the mercy of strangers. This type is immediately identifiable by her Kate Spade bag and last year’s shoes.

I walked up to her, unsure of what to say. I just stared at her for a minute. She saw me but tried to ignore me.

“Perhaps you are lost. Can I help you?” I said.

“No, uh, I live right there.” She pointed to the high-rise across the street.

“The sins one commits, the secrets one must keep, the crimes one has suffered, these mustn’t destroy the spirit,” I said. Immediately I knew I had taken the wrong tone. Who was I, a half crazy beggar, to this woman? A fallen woman for sure, but she was still so far above me that my mere presence was impertinence. I became overwhelmed with shame and blushed deeply. The woman pretended she wasn’t paying attention to me and called somebody on her cell phone. I walked over to her and pressed the two hundred and fifty dollars into her hand. I felt my knees weaken and began to shiver violently.

“You see? Aha! I am not dishonorable,” I declared. “I may be half mad and starved beyond redemption, both in terms of food and also, you know, spiritually. But this is the sort of man I am, to give away two hundred and fifty dollars just like that to a complete stranger, and not even mention it, just walk away in silence.” I laughed a giddy insane laugh right in her face.

“You call this silence?” She snatched the bills and started counting.

I wandered off into the night cursing myself. How could I afford such a prideful prank? Now I would not be able to buy a crust of bread. I was lost, lost, lost…

Date Written: December 30, 2004
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4.2353