THE NORTH RIDING PROJECT

Along the highway, rows of small shacks advertised fresh crab, but they were locked and shuttered.  I overtook a tramp going south for the winter.  Under his arms he carried two large parcels wrapped in army surplus blankets and a black umbrella that had lost most of its ribs.  His face was old, the color of nutmeg, and his hair and beard were short and steely grey.  I said good morning but he stared straight ahead of him until I was several yards past, and then he spat.

Booth/Sata, 1987