Indian

‘What the hell was he doing out here?’ Panhandling. Begging. It was something that he generally avoided. It was degrading. Humiliating. The cardboard sign with the American flag drawn on it that he had tucked beneath his arm was not even his own. One of the old timers, G.I. Joe, as everyone had nicknamed the black man in his sixties who had done three tours of duty in Vietnam, had pleaded with him to do it…just this once. It was Christmas Eve and all kinds of ‘good people’ were just looking for someone to help. Especially a Vet with an American flag sign. It had taken Joe all morning to convince him. What the old man did not know was that Trav had no intention of accepting charity from those ‘good people.’ He might be screwed in the head but he was not that pathetic. Not yet. And he never would be. He would take another option before it came to that. No, he had survived for three years on the streets by foraging and living off the land. He would not have lowered himself to this,. Trista explained to me that she only wanted me in proper attire in the room going forward. Fortunately for me she said, I had the proper attire on underneath my clothing. I asked her to clarify, and she told me she wanted me to strip down to the bra, thong and stockings in the hallway and put the heels on before entering the room. I looked up and down the hallway, and asked her if I had to do it right in front of our door. She said yes and was clear that when I knocked on the door to get in, I was to have folded my suit on the floor and be wearing nothing but the lingerie and heels. With that I saw the door close in my face.I stood there stunned for a moment, before quickly stripping down, folding my clothes and putting the wig and high heels on. I then knocked softly on the door. When it wasn't answered right away I knocked a little harder. There was no one in the hall but I knew that could change at any moment. I knocked again, and called Trista's name, pleading with her to let me.
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