SORT OF LIKE THE LITTLE TRAMP

127. SORT OF LIKE THE LITTLE TRAMP:

And it was nearing dark and I was alone standing almost sideways near the old A. E. Stewart's department store watching a crowd of people rolling along as if tranced and dazed gone and headed somewhere else and I realized it was all like music to me and that I could no longer listen to or hear any song without crying and the tears were coming again and it seemed as if all I had were tears and if not tears then regrets anyway and it was way too early in my life for any of that so I walked up to the lady with the cart and the huge bag and as she was bedraggled and sad I said to her "lady let me help and here's a few dollars" and she looked over to me and said "what ya' crying for I got all the troubles" and she took from my hands what I offered and said "but may the good God bless you too son and I wish you could be my own" and I clasped her hand and muttered "thanks" and walked on as she just stared out oblivious to most anything else and I knew even if I tried to explain history to her or where we were to her and what had occurred here and all that she still wouldn't get it or understand nor care so I went on alone and still befuddled and hoping to never again hear a tune a voice or a word in my life ever but I knew that could never be and I felt as dispirited as anything else right then and thought of Charlie Chaplin and kept on walking towards east - with my head down.