Changi Road Beggar

The chap's white cap caught the eye. Never does it appear less than clean and bright. Unlike a songkok, the form here was more round and the cloth patterned. Two or three others waited on the side of the road with the man for a break in the traffic. Steady and easy he stood among them, a slight wobble only for an instant and soon corrected. Like a tight-rope walker, the weight of arms needed careful positioning—crossed over his belly in this case. In that posture an observer might have casually glided over his figure. For a moment more than a passing resemblance to Pop-eye the Sailor-man: turned facing the cars, mouth clamped, almost a nautical cap. The crossing when it came this morning, the hopping, unfolded with a practiced ease: a short lift-off initially and effortlessly bounding over. At the stop a bus had pulled in as he approached. Rather than try to round either front or rear, the fellow waited standing close against the side, up toward the driver. Once the bus had gone three or four last hops, with an extra boost for the leap onto the footpath. At his spot beside the SevenEleven the lowering came abruptly in the form of a collapse or crash; the man was so adept, so nimble, it was a surprise. If he really wanted there was little doubt he could lower himself more comfortably and gracefully; everything earlier suggested. Does he eschew crutches or prosthetics because of the benefit of the display? One could not blame him. Down on the concrete the flap of fabric in the empty trouser leg shows how high the cut was made. Had he any part of the other leg, no matter how long a stump, bounding like that would be far more problematic. Australian eyes were captivated.