My man Smokey showed up where I worked five hours after he was thrown from the Bus of Heaven by the Standee Line Dude. He was staring in the window at Bubba, our giant cashier, who became fearful and summoned management, who made him leave with much finger-pointing ado.

This morning, Saturday, December 21, 2013, at 3:40 a.m., I was breaking down my frozen food order when I saw Smokey standing in front of the deli counter waiving a canister of whipped-topping at the ladies behind the counter and making rank propositions concerning the nozzle and the contents.

When I pointed out to the crew that this little man was the famous bus defecator and homeless prophet from Kane Street, they kept their distance in case he was primed for another scent-worthy sermon. [You know Diogenes the Cynic [meaning 'dog'] was an ancient Greek philosopher who famously squatted and did his business at the end of a speech at the Isthmian Games at Corinth.]

Then, as Nokia was trying to count his teeth from the other side of the counter, a Baltimore Country cop happened by the deli for his lunch. He promptly wrinkled up his nose, went to the night captain, and asked if he wanted Smokey gone. The last I saw of Smokey was him backing up out the front door, arguing with the very tall cop who followed him, and craning his neck backward uncomfortably, even leveling a gnarly finger at the Pontius Pilate in blue who had interrupted his whipped-topping miracle.