I believe Denizen Kane was once a lawyer, before he went completely insane. He does speak with the diction of a man who has spent decades as an inmate of higher learning institutions. He stands a meager five feet and two inches, weighs about 120 pounds, has keen beady eyes, a sharp nose, and tends to wear a wicked grin on his pointed chin. His hair is graying and neatly cropped. He dresses well and lightly for a homeless guy.
Denizen Kane can be found lurking along Eastern Avenue from East Baltimore around Highlandtown, all the way out to Chase, where the area’s only functioning drive-in movie graces the waterfront. I can well imagine Denizen Kane has carved out a roost for his funky self somewhere in the weed’s around Bengie’s drive-in, viewing free films and committing the odd olfactory atrocity.
The last time we saw Denizen Kane at work was in the wee hours of a winter morning, a mere week or so after ‘spreading the love’ on the Bus of Heaven. On that morning he was ejected from the store by a cop who just happened in to buy his lunch at the deli, and ran into Denizen Kane waxing obscene.
He’s back!
John had just gotten back from vacation yesterday. As much as he hates using the men’s room, as it is routinely befouled by the indigent homeless debri that resides in that node of the Armpit of the East Coast, he had to go. So in he went. It did not reek too badly yet. Our Brazilian floor tech had just hosed it down and scrubbed it.
John does not know Denizen Kane, but taking into account John’s recollection of the mysterious bathroom intruder’s oratory skills and his appearance as glimpsed through the crack in the single stall, I have determined that he was victimized by our diabolical homeless superhero.
Let’s have it from John in his own words:
“You know, sometimes you have to go. No sooner do I sit down than this little old dirtball guy comes in and says, ‘Hey man, I need to get in there—I have to go!’
“I say, ‘Look Pal, I just sat down. If it’s that bad go knock on the women’s room door and use one of their stalls. They have two.’
“By this time he’s already grunting, ‘Sorry sir, it’s too late!’
“Then I see the shit start hitting the floor as he’s cheering himself on, and trying to get his short ass over the trash can [which is three feet high] with his pants down around his ankles. Shit’s hitting the floor, getting caught up in his pants, getting flung and kicked this way and that!
Christ it stunk. You don’t realize what water does to tame the reek until some homeless maggot shits on the floor in front of you.
“So I’m like, ‘Look pal, do you mind!’
And he comes back in between grunts, ‘No, I don’t mind! Smell the love!’
“Christ can you imagine how bad it’s going to be this winter with this dirt bag doing his shit bombings?
“You would think he’d have some self-respect—at least wash his hands. But no, he pulls up his pants, shit dangling from the cuff and smeared along the floor, walks up to the sink, and doesn’t even wash his hands, just admires himself in the mirror. That’s when I saw him—that little dirt bag.”
I value this Denizen Kane sighting at highly probable, and will stake my cryptoghettology degree on it. And if it wasn’t him, it’s either an understudy or a rival.
WOW!
Okay,
I think every member of every race and ideology can come to an agreement as to the undesirability of Denizen Kane breeding!
There are prequels—hit The Streets Have Eyes tag!