The Hands of the Homeless or The Man Who Eats Cockroaches

Story from the Road

There’s a guy in New Orleans who eats cockroaches. He swears by it. I’s introduced to him by a friend of mine. He said “James, meet David.” He was a street-rat type and I’ve been there, I know what it’s about, so I don’t put on airs.

We shook hands. You’ll notice the hands of a millionaire feel the same as the hands of the homeless. We spoke, but briefly, of trivial things. You’ll notice a lot of the conversation of homeless and of millionaires is the same, harmless.

Not long went by when a cockroach came a’roamin’. David, with his dark and dirty right hand crushed the cockroach. He looked as if he was about to eat it, realizing he was still in conversation with us, he put it aside. But not far, not out of reach.

We bid our adieu and passed on through. Curiously I turned. I felt two things. The first was the need to wash my hands. The second; I had to know his plans with that cockroach. I wasn’t but three steps away when I saw him put it, still squirming into his mouth greedily. I said to my friend “I think he ate the thing.”

He said “Oh yeah, he eats everyone he catches. Eats all sorts of things.”

“Let’s duck in here,” I said, “I’ve got to wash my hands.”