There is a man who smells awful, and his name is Daryll. I know how to spell his name because he taught me one day. I tried to teach him how to spell my name, but he never remembers. He wanders around the suburbs lugging trash bags. He likes to carry as many as possible. Families try to stay away for fear of his rottenness He can be smelled from many feet away. He told me how he loves to eat. He keeps old food in his bags. I asked him what his favorite kind of food was, and he told me it was cookies. I asked him what kind of cookie and he said chocolate chip. Then he smiled. I told him how I like to dip my chocolate chip cookies in cold milk until they get soggy and melt in my mouth when I bite into them. I asked him if he likes to dip his cookies in milk and this is how he answered:

I dip my chocolate chip cookies in root beer.

I smiled back at him for once. Then I asked if the combination tastes good together. His lips opened up with his gums showing as he hummed:


4 replies on “Daryll”

Yeah, it’s never a good idea to disturb the disturbed, hey? Sorry to hear.
Sadly, there’s no shortage of Darylls, hey?

A lovely story Dizzy, but as far as I can tell, Daryll has not been so lucky with kindness from strangers. I’m pretty sure Daryll has lived this kind of life for a long time, no one knows if he has family or anything. I only used to talk to him because he would come into my job every day (a hoagie shop) and buy 2 liter sodas and cookies and chips. My boss would get mad and yell at him because he would scare customers away. I was the only one who really wanted to get to know him, all the girls who worked there refused to ring him up because of his smell, so I would volunteer to do it. Ever since I left that job I’ve seen him around and haven’t conversed with him. I don’t want to bother him really because he seems too far gone mentally now. Before he could barely form sentences and now it seems like he can’t at all.

I ❤ you, S! I ❤ Daryll, too! You really captured it! 💋

There used to be this lady downtown. Everyone ❤ed her. She had been a popular school teacher. Was ‘shocked’ into oblivion — an apparent ‘treatment’ for post-partum depression in the ’60s? Then made her way to the streets… I met her in the ’80s. I can’t remember how long she’d been there.

She was sparkly and friendly as all get out. Beautiful, really. Shared her panhandled profits amongst the disenfranchised. Exceedingly generous with her ❤, too.

She never remembered me twice. It made me quite sad at first. But, then, every time we it met was like a fresh start anew. She was SO pleased to make a new friend… It was really sweet EVERY time. Every single time.

As the years passed even though she didn’t ‘know’ me there began to be recognition in her eyes somehow, somewhere? Like, she sensed my familiarity? Sensed my ❤? Because ❤❤❤❤❤ her I DID! I did. Like, crazy. She was supremely lovable.

She became so popular downtown that the media looked into her. That’s how everyone learned he had been a teacher, had electro-convulsive therapy. The story generated an outpouring of support and there was a happy ending. Although, the people of the downtown core — businesses, residents and transients alike — had always taken special care to see she was well as she could be. She was just good through and through.

She wound up being a catalyst in the end. Bringing all these people together for the common good, uniting them. Succeeding? I’d say, in her own very special way.

Beauty in the hurricanes eye.

I wonder what Daryll was before this?

I saw this guy and he was a smelly, ugly fuck. His hair hadn’t been washed since his ma’s water broke. He has festering open sores all over his limbs. It was not worth talking to him even for a second, that’s how repulsive he was.

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