Free Dire Means by Geoffrey Neil

the clown waddled behind a fat man or primped his hair behind a woman in bouffant. On the ground near a tree under which the clown stood, was an inverted hat with a dome of bills puffing up from inside and coins splashed onto the ground around it.
    Mark made his way closer. There were so many coins spread out on the ground by the hat that the clown would certainly let Mark borrow two quarters for a quick call. During an apparent lull in the routine, the clown sat down on a wooden crate turned sideways under the tree. Mark stepped into the clown’s area and said, “Excuse me, is there any chance you would let me borrow two quarters for a phone call?”
    The clown stood up and turned his back to Mark, crouching and searching up and down and all around as if he didn’t know where Mark’s voice was coming from. “Hey, I’m right here,” Mark said. The clown jumped high in the air spinning so that when he came down he faced Mark. That’s when Mark heard the laughs and realized that the clown was still very much amidst a performance. New spectators stopped walking, and since the clown was stationary and not following pedestrians, the flowing foot traffic began to clog around them. Mark found himself snagged, costarring in the clown’s routine.
    “Hey, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t realize you were still on. I just wanted to borrow some change, that’s all.”
    The clown pointed down at his overflowing hat and then pulled the corners of his mouth down with his fingers and wrinkled his forehead. He then broke into an exaggerated mime of playing a violin. Spectators laughed. Mark stepped back. The clown, following Mark’s lead, took a giant step back and hung his mouth open with a dumbfounded expression. More laughter from the crowd angered Mark. He yelled, “Never mind, clown. I can see you need the money to buy some matching pants for your blouse!” The clown mimed the act of stabbing himself as if Mark had struck a fatal blow and the crowd laughed and clapped. Mark turned and walked away to the sound of spectators booing and hissing.
    The clown wasn’t letting Mark off the hook so easily, and mimed shoveling big heavy scoops of money from his hat and throwing it toward Mark. A roar of laughter went up from the crowd. The clown followed him for a good fifty feet, scooping pretend money, tossing it, and milking the crowd for more laughter. It wasn’t until Mark had drawn the clown too far from the real money in that hat that the mockery stopped and the clown retreated to guard his stash.
    Mark sat and watched people until almost 1:00 p.m. and then decided to move about some more to stave off stiffness that had begun to set in. He hung his head while he walked. His growling stomach not only reminded him of his hunger, but of a growing thirst.
    He passed two benches occupied by homeless people before he found a free one. The option to wait until Milten Wingren returned to his office was looking like the only one. It was just two blocks away. He could wait here instead of on Milten’s steps.
    The fresh aroma of a variety of hot foods wafted past Mark’s nose. The grilled smokiness of marinated carne asada gave way to the smell of buttered popcorn from a nearby theater, which yielded to marinara sauce slow cooking in an Italian restaurant a block away. The fragrant food made Mark’s stomach churn and growl and drew early lunch customers into the outdoor patio seats of the cafés.
    He watched the homeless people that wandered from trash can to trash can, digging through, tasting, and pocketing anything edible. From a perch on a nearby building, a pigeon folded its wings and swooped down to a wadded ball of yellow paper on the sidewalk. It took the paper in its beak and shook free a stub of a baked pretzel. A nearby homeless man jumped up from a bench. He abandoned his bundle of clothes wrapped tightly in a sleeping bag to chase after the bird’s prize. The pigeon flapped, lifting itself far out of reach, pretzel in beak