This is a piece I performed several years ago with good audience reception. There may be a video of my presentation somewhere on YouTube. My performance art is part of a distant past. Water under the bridge.
Eye of the Beholder
I rode in on the dirty dog, Ohio farm dirt still in my hair. At least I had the sense to clean the cow shit off my boots. The Greyhound bus left Columbus one morning and deposited me at Port Authority early the next.
I lost my luggage, or so I thought, standing in the Port Authority of New York. Despite assurances that it would catch up with me, I was stubborn. I would not get on that local to London, Connecticut, until I saw my duffle bag stuffed into the compartment underneath the bus.
I remained steadfast until a man appeared driving the world's smallest tractor. He pulled a string of small carts behind him, with my duffle bag standing upright in the first one. He just shook his head as he loaded it into the luggage compartment.
"Sit up front, son," the driver said. "There aren't many passengers on Sunday morning, not even at the Port Authority. Keep your eyes peeled when we pull out. I will show you one of the sights not on the official tour." With those words, he backed the bus out and exited the bowels of that building through a grimy archway.
I shielded my eyes from the light and looked to my left. They were lined up there as they must often be at the precinct. Number three, take one step forward and turn left.
The driver turned his speaker system to the public address setting and said, "Good morning, ladies." One of them smiled and waved as the others glared. "They think I'm bad for business," he said.
They were prettier than I expected, dressed in hot pants and leg warmers with the temperature outside, not twenty degrees. Now that's dedication.