His hardened face
–a maniacal smile as his eyes roll slightly
contrasts with my youthful gaze
His criminal record
–a long list of attempted crimes of assault, disturbing the peace, and DUI
far surpasses my ding-dong-ditching and throwing-apples-at-a-car days
His frequent curses
–marked by a tinge of satire that fills the air just as quick as it leaves it
looks for no particular response, and I don’t answer.
But then he speaks
about computers, thermodynamics, internet protocols, power grids, physics, the housing market, inefficiencies found in the world, ideas, lots of ideas
–roots in the world of problems I’ve also thought.
I break the flow of his ideas
A question burns my mind
–Is he as criminal as people make him out to be?
His frown –and he points his thoughts at me:
–Why is it that a police can punish another man
–Mark him as criminal, shoot him dead
–And still hold no responsibility over their own actions?
–Kids…kids running around the block with state owned equipment
–But it doesn’t matter what the crime is
–I’m a criminal
–And the list goes on with my attempts and my bad mouth.
I think I understand, I nod my head.
His face, his record, his curses.
Is that really the case?
I think to myself–
His face, his record, his curses
are the same as mine inside.