John Lennon, Vagrants, and Cheese

Several moons ago, I took a trip to New York City with my husband (then my boyfriend). On our visit to Central Park, after a ubiquitous picnic of exotic cheeses and baguette, we decided to stop by Strawberry Fields, the John Lennon memorial. As we approached the large "Imagine" logo engraved into cement there, we were greeted by the soothing melodies of bongos. Upon a quick inspection of the hobo-esq bongo player, I was convinced that this was a guy I was to become friends with. So, we started up a conversation. Turns out, in a city of a million crazies, he was just one of them. He was the self-proclaimed "protector" of the Imagine memorial. Rather than having a house, because that would be the sensible thing to do, he lived at the memorial. Now that's the life: living at the John Lennon memorial, serenading Beatles fans and lucky passer-bys. Speaking of Beatles fans, they love leaving crap for John. It's so weird how littering is considered okay when it is for dead people. All around the "Imagine' logo there were flowers, coins, stuffed animals, and you know, stuff living people think dead people like. Being a fan myself, I searched through my things for something I thought John might appreciate. Leftover cheese from lunch seemed like a nice, naturally decomposing gesture; he seemed like a cultured dude who would appreciate a fine, imported cheese. So, while all the serious fans with somber faces offered their mementos, I sauntered up to the memorial and placed my cheese on the ground. Though my offering was for John, I can't help but wonder if my vagrant bongo-playing friend found it and made himself a modest meal. Protecting the John Lennon memorial's gotta be a hunger inducing job.