Our Numbers Grew Daily

I was sitting in the park watching the pigeons on the line when a boy with an ice cream cone stopped to talk to me. “Hey mister,” he said, “You ever eat ice cream?” I replied that I did, that I ate it all the time and it was in fact my favorite food. “Sometimes,” I told him, “I went whole weeks eating nothing but the stuff.” “Yeah,” he said, “Well you’re not getting any of my ice cream, if that’s what you’re after.” “No, no,” I assured him, “I’ve got plenty of ice cream, enough to last me for the rest of my life.” He clutched the ice cream cone to his chest. “You’re weird, mister. My dad says to stay away from weirdos like you.” With that, he walked off, and I resumed my watching of the pigeons. They had this way of craning their necks up and into the sunlight, and I thought it seemed interesting, so I gave it a shot. It felt good, stretching like that, but then a woman with a baby carriage came along and gave me a dirty look, so I stopped and tried to look as apologetic as possible. Later, a balloon salesman came along. He had a metal cart and was holding a dozen balloons. “Nice balloons,” I said to him. And really, they were. They danced and floated in the afternoon sun and were a thousand perfect colors. “What did you say to me?” he asked. “Nothing, I just said you had some nice balloons.” The man walked over to me. “Now what in the hell is that supposed to mean?” He seemed genuinely angry. “Nothing, forget it. Today isn’t my day.” This really got him going. “Yeah,” he said, “You think you got it rough? You know hard it is selling balloons? You think I got time to just sit in the park all day?” “Listen,” I said, “I’m sure you’ve got it hard. I should be thankful for just being able to sit in the park. Good day.” “Oh,” he says, “So now you’re trying to get rid of me? No one’s ever got time for Sam. Everyone’s too important to talk to Sam. You people, you think you’re so high up, but really you’re lower than dirt.” With that he walked away, and I felt terrible. I felt like I was shrinking. The trees were as tall as skyscrapers, the bench was a giant wooden bus. Even the pigeons seemed like giants to me. People stopped in front of me, and before long a small crowd had gathered. “What’s that?” someone asked. “I think it’s a pile of dead leaves,” said someone else. “No, I think it’s a porcupine.” “No,” said a woman, “It’s just a shrunken person. They’re very common around here.”