The Blue Sphinx

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“WHAT you doin’ in this doorway, fellow?”

The policeman growled the question as he stepped suddenly into the entryway of an old, dilapidated store. Flickering a flashlight, he studied a shrewd, pointed face that showed above the collar of a turtle-neck sweater.

“Just keepin’ out of the rain, officer.” The sweatered man grinned as he made reply. “Smokin’ a cig while I’m waitin’ for it to let up. Comin’ heavy, ain’t it?”

Short of stature, the sweatered man straightened his stooped shoulders as he spoke. He made two gestures. One, with his left hand, showed the lighted cigarette of which he had spoken. With his right hand, the little man indicated the steady downpour that was dripping about the structure of an elevated line.

A train came rumbling along before the cop had another chance to speak. The little man puffed nonchalantly at his cigarette while the bluecoat continued to scrutinize him with the flashlight. Then, as the clatter faded, the cop delivered another question.

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