The man with the clipboard is deep in the pitch. His target, another passenger on the Gold Line train, nods and smiles and is prepared to buy whatever he’s selling. His rapid patter is more like flirting than politics. He’s hawking a petition about minimum wage, among others.
She’s eating it all up with a spoon and would like to have him for dessert. “OK, I’ll sign,” she, says before he’s even done with the pitch.
“Great,” he says, smiling back at her. There’s a long pause as they regard one another. Finally, she breaks the silence.
“Do you have a pen?”
There a flash of… something in his eyes as he realizes he does not. “Yo, big man.” He’s addressing me. “You got a pen?”
“No,” I reply.
He repeats the question to everyone in the vicinity. No one wants to offer one.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword, but he has gone to battle completely unarmed. And it is doubly tragic because he doesn’t seem to realize she doesn’t really care about the pen anyway.
She really just wants his sword.
