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At the corner of one street sits an old BLIND MAN dressed in

raggedy clothes, perhaps an Indian. His SEEING-EYE DOG lies next

to him. He's talking to TWO OLD MEN, veterans perhaps, Indian or

Spanish. They both have missing limbs and slide off with furtive

alcoholic looks as Bobby passes. The Blind Man yells out in an

American Indian accent.

BLIND MAN:

Hey! You there!

BOBBY:

You want something, old man?

BLIND MAN:

Don't call me old man. Ain't you got

no respect, boy?

BOBBY:

You want something?

BLIND MAN:

Yeah I want something. I want you to run

over to that machine and get me a pop.

BOBBY:

You can't do that yourself?

BLIND MAN:

Hell no, I can't do that myself. I'm

blind. Can't you see that?

BOBBY:

I'm sorry, I didn't--

BLIND MAN:

What'd you think I was doing out here

with these glasses on? Sunnin' myself?

BOBBY:

I don't know. I thought you were keeping

the sun out of your eyes.

BLIND MAN:

I ain't got no eyes. You want to see?

BOBBY:

Christ no!

BLIND MAN:

Lost my eyes in Vyee-et-nam. Lost them

fighting the commies. Fought the war and

lost my eyes fightin' the commies just so

you can come around here and make fun of

me.

BOBBY:

I said I was sorry.

BLIND MAN:

Don't be sorry. Just run over there and

get me my pop before I die of thirst.

BOBBY:

Yeah, sure. You got change?

BLIND MAN:

Change? You want my change? I fought the

war and lost my eyes just so I could give

you my change?

BOBBY:

All right, old man. Christ.

Bobby walks across the street to a very old soda machine; it has

bottles instead of cans. The blind man shouts to Bobby.

BLIND MAN:

Get me a Dr. Peppa! I don't want no Colas.

Colas ain't nothing but flavored water.

Bobby puts change in the machine and pulls out a bottle of Dr.

Pepper. He starts back to the blind man.

BLIND MAN:

Don't forget to open it for me. I can't be

opening my own bottle.

BOBBY:

Christ!

Bobby goes back to the machine and opens the bottle, then walks

back to the old man who pours a splash on the ground.

BLIND MAN:

A little for Mother Earth. I'm about fifty

percent Indian, you know. To all our

relations.

He takes a hearty swig of the soda.

BLIND MAN:

Ah! Just what I needed! Want some?

The blind man holds the bottle out to Bobby. A string of saliva

runs from his lips to the bottle's neck.

BOBBY:

I'll pass.

Bobby reaches down and pets the old man's dog. Flies buzz around

both the dog and the Blind Man.

BOBBY:

I think you'd better give your pooch a sip.

He looks sick.

BLIND MAN:

That's 'cause he's dead.

Bobby jumps back.

BOBBY:

Oh, Jesus.

BLIND MAN:

I hope you wasn't pettin' him none, was

you?

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