Here is another story. A few weeks ago I watched a silent and motionless man, hair and face and clothes painted completely and vividly blue, who sat on a blue chair on a corner downtown, holding a blue rubber mouse. It took a long moment for me to realize he was alive, not a new installation of art work. When someone dropped money into his box he would move like a robot, shake the person s hand, squeak the mouse, then return to his statue pose. Blue men are entertaining.
Blue men are worth paying for a handshake and the squeak of a rubber mouse.
At that moment, I wanted to round up every homeless person in the city and paint him and her blue. I saw hope. I wanted at least to write about it. Instead, I did nothing. I liked those women, ate tamarind with them, told them I am Buddhist.