A Stock Broker and Junkie Sit On A Park Bench

 

 

 

 

Like the beginning of a bad joke a broker takes a seat on a park bench near a junkie. Children play and chase one another while innocence fills the summer air. The junkie watches without movement while the broker opens the business section of a fresh paper and mumbles to himself about an article.

“Finally, a significant amount in a stimulus package.”

“Krugman says it still won’t be enough”, the junkie says as he watches a boy push down a small girl in a sundress.

The broker turns to examine the clumped, weather-matted dreadlocks.

“You seem like a smart guy. What are you doing out here?”

The junkie removes a few pieces of bread from his canvas bag and begins throwing crumbs to the pigeons as they surrounded the bench.

“I use to work around here.”

“Where?” the broker asks while folding the paper back together and placing it back in his leather briefcase.

“Behind us.”

“The Schuster building?”

“No, the big one next to it. The one with the fountain.”

The broker turns to examine the magnificent feat of architecture while the grey continued inching its way through the dreadlocks sitting, fixed on the feeding pigeons.

“I had a corner office on the 12^th floor overlooking the Schuster’s gardens. The valets name is Russell. He has two young boys, one of them is an all star little leaguer. His wife left him for a party clown a few years back.”

“What are you doing here? A guy that worked in that building doesn’t belong on a park bench feeding wild animals.”

“Fired.”

“Wife? Kids?”

“She left me and took our daughter to live with her mother in Santa Ana. It was too much for me at the time. I drank more and more and that’s when I got this damn needle stuck in my arm.”

The extreme heat caused sweat to perspire from his forehead and much of it seemed to gather above his top lip as he spoke. There it was, the giant fix protruding from his arm, glistening in the warm summer light like the great Excalibur in the stone. Lodged deep in his vein,the needled served as nothing more than as a dangerous obstacle for passing civilians. Perhaps caution cones were sufficient to prevent any accidents. How the broker missed it before baffled him. “I have to help somehow,” he thought, staring at the massive burden.

“Maybe I can help you,” he said setting his briefcase down and rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

The junkie placed his arm out and sat silently as the broker wrapped his hands around the shaft.

“Maybe if I put my foot on the bench and you put your foot on my knee…”

He was going to be a hero, a savior. He would be a model to society, a great ambassador of sympathy and giving. If this was the Excalibur then he would be Arthur. Surely this would be the event that sealed the deal with St. Peter. Of course he had been no angel and had done what was needed of him to secure his position in the world of the living but what would become of him when this was over? He had his eternity in mind and when the moment came this would be the easy out clause, the deal breaker.

St. Peter would flip through his golden book and say, “ You stole money from…You cheated on your wife with…”

“But lord, I saved the junkie that day in the park! And you saw the cans on that intern!”

With all his might he pulled as he felt the junkie's foot press into his leg. Stopping for a moment he wiped the sweat from his hands on the side of his Dockers khakis.

“Wow, it sure is in there deep!” the broker said, eying the syringe.

“Its been in there for some time now. Your not the first to try pal. My mother tried, my father before her. He used crowbars, chisels, hammers, saws, nothing worked. My preacher used prayer. I even got some professionals to check it out. I paid them a lot of money.”

“I’ll get it out.”

“Whatever you say stranger.”

An hour passed. Then two. Then three and the broker made his last stand. He had tried hammers, help from fellow passers by, even borrowed a jack hammer from the workers at the construction site across the park. The needle still lay dormant, motionless, not a shutter. Falling to the bench the broker sat with his face in his hands.

“Come on now man, don’t let it get you down. Like I said you aren’t the first and you won’t be the last. Hell, I try every night.” The junkie patted him on the back.

Without a word the broker stood from the wooden bench, straightened his tie, picked up his briefcase and walked away. As he walked through the park the children still were playing, birds were singing and flowers bloomed. Somewhere Russell’s children were being beatin with an oversized shoe by a drunken clown and his son was to be the next Hank Aaron. Reaching in his bag once more the junkie removed two more slices of wheat bread and life went on.

 

 

Reviews

[Vitamin A]

I really enjoy this, I feel like it says a lot about humanity. The opening paragraph is my favorite, it seems to set everything up so perfectly.

"Reaching in his bag once more the junkie removed two more slices of wheat bread and life went on." Great ending. The "and life went on" seems to represent so many things.

Well done.

[Clarisse Nanoit]

"Maybe I can help you," he said sitting his briefcase down----> "sitting" should be "setting"...
If this was the Excalibur than he would be Arthur.----> You mean "then" instead of "than"; I LOVE this analogy, but I think it would be SO much more powerful if you hadn't already mentioned the excailbur thing... Just a thought.
"Wow, it sure is in there deep!" the broker said eyeing the syringe."----> you accidentally put some unnecessary quotation marks. lol.
He had tried hammers, help from fellow passer byes----> "passers-by", not "passer byes".
I think it's interesting, for sure. Very nice. =) Well written. It's an intriguing thought, too: a junkie with a needle stuck in his arm. It almost seemed like a metaphor to me, one for drug abuse. Sometimes, the habit can't be kicked... Idk why it gave me that thought, but it did. Anyway, really good piece. I'll be sharing it with a friend or two. =D
KH

[Anna]

This is great! I have no talent for writing like you do! =]

Keep it up!

[R J Askew]

Arrrrggggh! Great read! I only read it cos I thought you might be my old mate Nathan Goldenpants a Brit dog writer. But, but, but... Your story bossed my eyes. You got me from the start as I despise brokers for being arseholes and junkies for being failed arseholes. So I was into it. My mind did a cartwheel of joy at the bit about the clown and I cld see a tender close up focus on the giant sword-needle. Ach, what a fix the pair of them is in, neither with a solution. And so it goes. Seren-dip-dip-no-p-pity.

[Invisible_kid]

wow this is fantasic Nathan! BRAVO! it was all set up so perfectly, and i truely love the reality of it, not a story like mine where everything is wonderful haha. this is a wonderful piece, a true favorite of mine!

[Pax Analog]

I dig the Brautigan-esque travail of the stock broker trying to remove the syringe from the junkie's vein. And the junkie's former occupation. One thinks of junk bonds. One thinks they're BOTH junkies, upscale, downscale, with the downscale even having the upscale experience in his background.

I like the Excalibur trope too. This is a very powerful and parabolically-grounded scene, considering the nature of the society we live in. All the systemics must change. Standard Marxism tends to weaken market muscle; corporate capitalism exploits the market, leaving fair exchange dismembered in the rubble. Perhaps Groucho Marxist cyborgs could sort it out. Aspects of Canada and Europe seem to be able to walk and chew gum at the same time, encouraging both a market dynamic and a fair caring structure for people themselves.

Very good piece and a very good foundation for further rumination on the full spectrum of junk society.

[Aekmy]

Wow, this is something I would never be able to write. You did so well. I liked the beginning the best. :D
Keep writing.
-Madeline

p.s Thanks for the read request :D

[Mark]

This is an engaging story with few flaws. I particularly enjoyed the businessman making a half-hearted, token effort (with his own profit more in mind than that of his benchmate!), then the junkie consoling him as he leaves, defeated. Even as I write this, I see that may be the core message of this piece: social good will never be achieved as long as selfishness is the motivator.
One immediate change; more will follow by PM, so as not to clog your review page: You referenced King "Author"--it's "ARTHUR".

[Jason]

This is a great body of work. You truly have a great style, and wrote a wonderful story here...., and your attention to detail was wonderful. You put your quotes where they were meant, and didn't overdue it in dialog. You truly have created a wonderful peice of art right here that anyone could and should be proud of. I am truly thankful that you wanted me to read this, and I hope to read more things like this from you in the future....I enjoyed it very much....thank you for sharing. I hope you enjoyed writing it, and much as I enjoyed reading it....,

Sincerely,

Jay

[John McGrael]

i enjoyed reading this story!!!

i like the last line the best!