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He slows the Blazer to a halt, the light red. A wobbly homeless person staggers into the crosswalk, a tall man, about forty, dishwater blond matted dreadlocks, stained corduroy pants, and muddy cuffs, with a soiled blanket draped around his shoulders like a regal robe. He stops with surprised delight and engages in a spirited conversation with one of the front fenders. He watches the light change but can do nothing, except wait. Finally, after an honorable fare-the-well salute and a most expressive bow, wishing his four-wheeled comrade safe passage, the gracious street king, with other-world eyes, granted him permission to proceed. |