my corner convenience store and mr. moon

i rolled into the parking spot at quarter before midnight, tired and famished from a twelve hour shift, and saw him standing there, a tall man in a golf cap, one of the many who loiter in front of my corner 24 hour convenience store. i braced myself for the inevitable begging or leering that i still attempt to become accustomed to and remind myself that i have plenty of copies of the baltimore homeless shelters brochures i carry around with me for moments such as this, although normally they occur while polluting the air at the insanity-provoking endlessly long red lights.

his clothes and his skin are blacker than a lyricist's ink but his countenance is among the brightest, if not the absolute brightest, i've seen among adults when his entirely toothless mouth opens up like a three-quarters moon and he jests, "I LIKE THEM SOCKS!!!!!" i am wearing plaid knee socks under pin-striped pedal pushers and black hightop converse. he may have a disability (one may also wonder the same about me given the description of my outfit!), he seems harmless, and his smile is infectious. he is exuberant; he is genuine. he is like a child. a moon-child.

i walk into the store and as i order my turkey sandwich off the touch-screen computer, i cannot help but break into laughter over and over. i glance toward the window and see him peering in, moon still at three-quarters light. of course he has to come in when he sees me glance over, as if i was beckoning and giving a "come hither" stare. once in, he continues cajoling, ne'er one tooth in evidence despite the widest smile i do believe i've ever seen. but i've learned to self-protect; vigilance comes with living in baltimore, you see, and so i lingered near the counter, which somehow felt more supportive than the magazine rack or open space, while waiting for my sandwich.

another customer enters the store and offers the bright moon man, his "buddy," a pack of smokes. mr. moon invites him to his birthday party, and the check out girl giggles with a subtle sigh, "you always invite us to your party." the smoke buddy asks when the birthday is, and mr. moon says, "july 24th." smoke buddy says, "you're on!"

mr. moon talks about what a smoker he is, everyone calls him "smokey," and he's too "hard-headed" to stop, only a bull dozer could do him some good. i lean across the counter and ask the lazy-eyed check out girl, "he's harmless, right?" and over a gruff voice singing about a cracklin' girl named rosie, she assures me in signature bal'more twang that he's harmless, lives with his father up the street, is famous around these parts, and quite a help at the store. the sandwich maker bags my turkey sandwich and i exit the store, my corner convenience store, thanking the baltimore dark and dank night that i have finally had the fortune to be shone upon by mr. moon, and therefore, be one step closer to the inner circle of quirkiness that makes this city something worth surviving.