Blue Belle

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Spring comes hard down here.

The switchman was in the lotus position - serenely posed on an army blanket he had neatly folded into quarters before he assembled his tools and took up his post for the day. A black man with glowing bronze skin, hair falling straight and glossy down either side of his head like a helmet, framing a face that was mostly skull.

He held a thick pad of graph paper open on his lap, carefully filling a page with finely shaded symbols - a covert calligraphy all his own. He didn't bother to hide his work from passing citizens. His half-smile said it all - the simple slugs thought him insane; they could never understand the difference between the messenger and the message.

A pale-blue quilt covered his shoulders. He placed three identical blue china bowls on the blanket around him. To his right, the bowl sported a generous supply of fine-point felt-tip pens in different colors. The bowl on his left held a heavy Zippo cigarette lighter and some loose cigarettes - various brands. Directly in front was a bowl with some coins, encouraging the passing citizens to make a contribution to his mystical cause.

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