Ernie

Ernie was sinew strung drum tight on the frame of his bones, the levers and pulleys of his body popped through his lean forearms and were thick through the blocks of his joints. His white shell tops gave him cartoon rabbit feet which made his twiggy ankles seem that much thinner. The sticks of his legs swam in the loose holes of his low hanging cargo shorts, in beige or camouflage. They were BDU's that he bought at the army navy store, one of the two places he did all of his clothes shopping. Ernie's legs swiveled when he walked, his knees making loping revolutions through his herky jerky gait. He swung his arms wide and kinetic, his head snapping from side to side like a snake winding its' way along. His walk was confident and demonstrative, he took up as much of the street as he felt he owned, he wasted energy because it was impossible to use up all that he had. He went to sleep every night tapping his feet on the bedpost, impatiently waiting out the few short hours until the sun came up again.

The other place Ernie bought his clothes was at merch tables. $15 t shirts and $30 hoodies. He didn't own a coat or pants, just a Yankees cap he never bent the brim on and when there was rain or snow he just pulled the hood up and buried his hands deep into his kangaroo pocket. Ernie had to fly his colors; Warzone, Madball, H20, Token Entry, Sick of it All, Straight Ahead, Gorilla Biscuits, Agnostic Front. He walked around his neighborhood all summer long, running into people or sitting on vacant stoops, or picking up his cell phone just to say "The fucking bodega doesn't sell fucking cigarettes or some shit. I dont know, maybe they got fucking busted selling to little kids and shit."