Side Show Stranger

ILLUSTRATION by BOB AUL

Thanks, mysterious stranger, for inspiring me—and grossing me out at the same time. I was the disheveled guy buying paint rollers at the Anaheim Street Ace Hardware. You were the old, half-naked white guy who rolled up on the unicycle as I was leaving—though I’m not really sure that’s a fair assessment, since all you wore was a pair of shorts and athletic shoes. I was blinded by the glare coming off your skinny white legs. Let’s say three-quarters naked. But whatever. You, sir, are a genuine living relic from the days when Long Beach was the Coney Island of the West.

First, I’m not sure how much time you had on your hands to learn, but unicycles are generally impossible to ride, so you get points for that. (Even though, I have to say: you looked pretty homeless, so maybe learning to ride a unicycle was just your project for the week.)

But you also have my respect for throwing hygiene, sun screen and comfort to the wind and just rocking down the sidewalk basted in your own sweat. The saddle you had wedged up between your legs looked homemade when you peeled it out of there, and I know those slimfit shorts (which looked a lot like a bathing suit) must have really chapped your leathery hide.

So I’m conflicted. On the one hand, I have the image of a retired, sweaty circus freak permanently seared into my brain. On the other, this is exactly what I expect of Long Beach—and in a weird way, knowing that you’re out there on a unicycle makes me wanna do something crazy with my life, too.

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