CHOLLO & BIGHORN

     Bighorn slow-rolls his wheelchair down the sidewalk next to the off-ramp.
     "Chollo!" he shouts. "Chollo!" Again, this time harsher. "Chollo!!" he screams, his words shattering the cold, morning air into splinters that rain on a homeless man covered in sheets beneath the bridge.
     Bighorn’s brow starts to curl up. Chollo had never made him call his name twice.
     "Chollo!" he screams one last time. He lurches over to his right side and picks up a rock from the ground. Bighorn hurls it up under the bridge at the motionless sheets. It ricochets off the bottom of the underpass and dings Chollo in the head. His lifeless body shudders and collapses on its side, dead. The sheets unfurl and a small piece of cardboard slides down the concrete incline and towards Bighorn below. It stops halfway. Bighorn reads it aloud from his section of the sidewalk.
     "’Homeless. Please. Anything you can spare.’ No shit, Chollo. No shit."
     Bighorn extends his arm as he scoots his wheelchair to the base of the incline. He’s not even close, but he keeps reaching, closer and closer until he finally gives up.    
     After a sigh, he slides himself off the chair and onto his bloated belly. He pulls himself up the incline, digging into the concrete ground with his stubby fingers. He reaches for the sign, closer to it than before, but still several feet away.
     Sweat drips from his American flag headband. He strains to pull himself up onto his ass as tears burn his eyes. Chollo won’t be able to help him into his chair anymore.




-SLL