Dear Anonymous,
My car appears to have been hit with a spaghetti bomb. There are strands of noodles and pockmarks of red sauce all over it.
This man shows up, and it is his way to move from tragic weeping to gregarious laughter; from being upright pushing his cart down the street to being on his back kicking his legs and arms up into the sky.
I find him spitting on my car.
Trying to remove the spaghetti splatters. He throws his lighter aside. Takes a drag from his cigarette and spits again. Then scrapes the car gently. He kneels down to get closer. I think he's got a future in detailing. He continues to spit and scrape successfully removing the mess. He wants to clean it for me.There is something devotional in his posture and his manner. He goes on to weep about his girlfriend with MS. He flushes with anger.
Then he softens and says 'It's love. And knowledge, this is.' as he continues to pick at the mess. Then he hesitates and says
'It's love.'
and rubs away the last of the stain.