I gave 75 cents to a homeless man
sitting on the frozen sidewalk
holding a half eaten loaf of rye bread.
It's 13 degrees and the sun's out.
Times Square, December 2, 2005.
A lanky man dressed like Santa walked by,
glared and shook his head at me.
He took a step sideways
and continued on, stumbling down the sidewalk,
stopping to lean against the building
twenty yards away.

He slid down the wall
and sat in an empty doorway,
his red and white costume sloping down on one side,
the elastic beard matted
with sweat stains and fresh egg yolk.
Gaps in the fabric revealed black stubble
with streaks of gray along his cheek bone,
his belt far too big for someone twice his size.
One of the lenses on his fake coke-bottle glasses
was cracked down the middle, but he didn't notice.

How come Santa drinks so much, my little cousin asked,
trying to absorb the idea of habits.
She's smarter than most seven-year-olds.
Some day she'll realize the therapeutic power of bourbon,
whether she wants to or not,
by virtue of a twisted and distorted lineage.

Remembering back to a time when I believed,
I asked myself,
Was he always so intense and disruptive?
Did he always look so disheveled?
Waking up in ****** unfamiliar motels,
fur stuck to his tongue,
feeling cheap and
smelling like reindeer?

Doesn't he have family to go home to?

I distinctly recall Santa getting agitated
at a pawnshop in Jersey,
hocking a six year old Rolex knockoff,
arguing with a deadbeat in an orange latex bandana
about whether it could get him 5 bucks or 50.
Santa is a hobo who should be in rehab
but decides to sit back and take blame,
driven by dollars and cents, not peace and love.
Fictitious friends have more of an impact,
imagining someone out there barks like a dog
when a strange man in card-carrying colors
gets too close to either side of the line
and lodges himself in a chimney
too small for his socks
but too large for his vision.

Think of the profile:
An obese elderly  man, about 6'1",
big bushy white beard
puffy red cheeks
and glazed over eyes. Dresses in red velvet,
has eight deer he runs until they drop,
overwhelmingly fond of children,
known to sneak around
in the darkness late at night,
carrying a sack,
usually around the holidays.
Santa is a transient worker.
But does he have a record?
Was he always a bag man?

Busted for B&E;
at the Christmas Tree Shop in Danbury, 2001,
then fast forward to indecent exposure
inside a moving vehicle
somewhere around 23rd Street
where the sun becomes the moon.

Everyone is old enough to know
not to sleep in soiled piles
reeking of their own fermenting remnants
of a night gone sour.

But he meets Betty Ford for drinks anyway
in a seedy club in Queens,
one night too many,
one night in particular, in 2003,
strung out stiff on single malt,
he grabbed the reins, lost control
and flipped back to front on a car full of elves
at a busy intersection somewhere around LaGuardia.

He showed up in night court
with a ****** who promised him a good time
but gave him more than he bargained for.
He never said he was innocent,
just that he didn't think he could be convicted.

Across the street, he pulls himself up,
throws an empty bottle against the concrete wall
and crosses back over toward us.
The stale stench of cheap red wine
permeates from the center of his beard,
with permanent stains across his chin
and all along the white fabric pleasure
path that connects one head to the other.

Santa glares at us again,
mumbles something in Croatian
and falls face first into a pile of stones
deep down the alley,
two sheets to the wind,
and ten steps closer to Brooklyn.

This is the catalyst that turns david totally over the edge, he meets a very cute girl in a record store and makes small talk about the jeff buckley or van morrison record shes looking at, he walks her home and there appears to be a genuine connection, david is shown laying on his bed with a grin on his face, he feels like hes in love.

some time in the movie passes and it almost becomes a love story. every menial task david fulfilled earlier is now done with a invigorating feeling, rich with life. Theyve been on a date, david has really put his best self on dissplay. and he almost thinks its fate. they have a lot in common and the night ends with her briefly kissing david.


at some point before work david texts her. and goes about his day, he feels great and is shining with a radiant happiness. He buys her flowers. he checks his phone afterwards and has had no reply. he gets a text later than night saying 'sorry my grandma was over, she has cancer' she is shown typing this then throwing her phone somewhere, aabout 3 or 4 other hipster artsy girls are all around listening  to some obscure hipster psychedelic crap and all smoking joints; the girl who ***** her in the next seen is shown trying to crush pills into powder so she can sniff them.

In the morning he tries to call her and walks to her house with the flowers. the scenes now are grim and lifeless in comparison to before.   he texts her whilst outside her house asking if he should come over or if she wanted to do anything, the scene then jumps to her under the covers with another pretty girl and they are tribbing hard and almost violently, she is on top and she notices her phone vibrate on the side of the bed. she checks it and sees the message and quickly responds 'sorry i have a cold. cant come out' while her lover kisses her stomach passionately; then the scene cuts to david standing outside her house and hes walking home. hes unaware of what is happening but senses something is wrong. later that night, or later in the week, david asks her if she is feeing better and she again lies, davids face is shown and at first he is semi happy when he sees her replying, but his face turns to one of brokenness when he reads what she has said. He then asks her if anything else was wrong/hsnt heard from her in a while, to which she responds that 'no' and she is not too well and would appreciate it if he gave her some space and that he didnt have to worry so mucch. He looks at this and is a bit taken back and says 'ok sorry'

in the same night, or it is assumed, david is alone in his room and looks extremely weary,  reminded of how what he has can so easily go, he then puts his coat on and leaves to got the pub. At the pub he goes to a stool when his eye is caught by what looks like the girl dancing drunk and being stupid with a couple other girls and ahandsome effeminate looking guy, who appears to be very into her, and david just watches in awe, the bartender notices him staring while washing a glass and asks him if he can be helped, david just looks on gobsmacked, the effeminate guy looks like he isnt drunk but just acting drunk and stoops down to her and they kiss passionately and drunkly. at this point david starts to step in. he is both shocked and incredibly angry, she jumps around is scared a little at first by david wtinessing it, but then drunkly laughs in his face. David has this forsaken and tortured look in his eyes and begins to step back then she rushes in saying 'oh,  its not like that' finding the whole thing funny but trying to be serious, david looks at her in disgust and says 'its not?" then looks at the effeminate guy for a second who appears to be intimidated by david, 'hes gay' she says. at this point the bartender had caught on and awkwardly tries to ignore the situation. david simply starts walking out, in utter disbelief of what hes just seen, she tries to grab his arm but he aggressively shoves it away and walks out of the bar, head slumped.

this marks the final straw in the coffin for a happy life for david. he dies at this point and for the rest of the story appears to be a different person