“Climb with me to
the highest conceivable pillars ladies and gentleman. It is time that
we rise above this bureaucratic malarkey and embrace the human spirit
for what it is. Kindness, passion, love, all subverted by the need
for material possessions.” A man preached under the thousands of
flashing bulbs outside of the Golden Nugget. The sweat trickled down
his dark shiny skin and he lifted his tweed jacket to wipe it.
“It is time for the
end of capitalism,” he said. The midget Elvis impersonator next to
him strummed an air guitar and danced.
“It's time for the
end of war... of nationalism... we must unite as one entity. We have
the resources to ensure that nobody goes hungry, yet we horde them
all to protect our own family and we ignore the fact that we are all
brothers. We are all part of this super-organism that is the earth.
Merely collections of cells built to work symbiotically for the
greater good, but we have been distracted. Oh how we have been
distracted.”
I stood against a
pillar watching the old man attempt to save society one drunkard at a
time, occasionally his sounds were outweighed by the screaming
children passing by on the zip-line. This guy didn't have the normal
motives of preachers on Fremont; religious promotion(and of course
donations). His legitimacy intrigued me. Any minute now he was going
to pull out a jingling cup of change.
“Quit your useless
job today. Create something. Love somebody. Go somewhere. Love
everybody,” he said with a smile, his rage calming into happiness.
“Can I get a picture
with you?” a young girl wielding a three-foot long alcoholic
beverage asked.
“A picture?”
“Yeah.” She put
her arm around him. He faked a smile and she threw up a crooked peace
sign. She pulled two dollars out of her bra and handed it to him.
“No, I don't want
your,” he started to try to give the money back, but she had
already found herself in the arms of Captain Jack Sparrow.
“Yo ho, yo ho!”
they yelled together as the black man shook his head and stuffed the
two dollars into his pocket.
“We are so
transfixed with the idea of being comfortable that we have forgotten
to strive for greatness,” he began. A horn blared as a car almost
ran over a pedestrian text messaging as they crossed the street. The
pedestrian didn't even look up. A chain reaction of horns ensued as
the taxi drivers battled for position on the side of the street. The
man watched the chaos and felt himself jarred when a security guard
on a Segway bumped into him trying to get to the clueless jaywalking
pedestrian. He composed himself.
“Stop giving your
money to these casinos. We have become so attached to material
possessions that we will risk the money we wasted our precious and
limited time attaining for the small, unlikely chance that we might
double up on Fremont street. Give your money to charity if you wish
to unload it that bad. Donate to your child's school.” I wondered
how long it would be before somebody stopped this guy, dragged him
out by his arms as he preached freedom and peace.
“Who are you
supposed to be?” a man with a “This Guy Needs a Beer” shirt on
asked.
“Who am I supposed
to be? I am you, and you are me. I am earth. I am part of one big
cancerous organism and I know the cure.” he replied.
“Oh I get it, you're
like...Tracy Morgan?”
“What the hell is a
Tracy Morgan?” The man asked.
“That crazy actor
from that show...the guy who said he would disown his kid if he were
gay. Who are you then?”
“I am the man
standing behind the boulder of change, pushing with all of my might
and suggesting that you might help me push this boulder. Alone I can
not budge it one inch, but together we could throw it through the
window of our corrupt government. In a sense, yes, I am Tracy Morgan.
Just like I am Alexander the Great. Genghis Khan. Their greatness is
in my grasps, as well as it is in yours.”
“Well, you don't
really look like Genghis Khan. Can I get a picture anyway?”
“Two dollars,” he
said with a sigh.
