| PICTURE GOES HERE |
| Every morning -- weekends and holidays included
-- Sweater Boy arrives at the town transit center long before the first
routes begin. He carries a battered attache case, clasp broken and strap
close to pulling apart. Systematically organized inside that case were
handprinted business cards, blue plastic garbage bags, a note pad, and
several ballpoint pens. |
| Whenever a lady of ample girth
passed by, Sweater Boy would bow like a courtier. With a slow, weighty
gesture, he would extend a single business card and begin his sales pitch: |
| "Madam,
I wash sweaters. I wash them professionally, and I wash them with care."
Sweater Boy swings out both arms in the grand tradition of history's finest
orators. |
| "Madam,
I promise the greatest attention to all your knitted valuables. I'll rinse
them and soap them and rinse them again. I'll dry them and stretch them
and wash them once more!" His voice booms this last sound,
with mouth wide open and eyes glistening. |
|