eleven small roaches

Ran into fabled drifter Lawrence last night. Offered to buy him a beer but they were carding at the bar and Lawrence doesn't own an ID. Instead gave him a ride to 25th and Farnam. Decided not to ask him were he was going because he seemed like the proud type, though he did talk about living homeless in midtown Manhattan until he was taken in by New Yorker contributor Alex Ross. Though short-spoken and attentive, he talked a lot during the ride. Among a few other things, he recommended (a) travelling, (b) the Bowery and the photography of Weegee, (c) Bob Dylan copy Leo Kottke, (d) new age crystal musician Michael Hedges, and (e) reading Marquez.

I had heard that Lawrence liked to give people who help him out something in return for the favor: a strange postcard that he found, a guttered-up Dylan Thomas book, etc. When I recognized him he was hassling some high school chilluns who were waiting in line for a midnight showing of Napoleon Dynamite. He seemed somewhat perplexed that someone knew who he was. But then I said that I knew Brian Bird. "Oh, does he ride the bus?" Brian does indeed ride the bus. "I like Brian."