You were the bedraggled-looking blond woman who has been begging for change in the middle of the intersection of Pacific Coast Highway and Second Street in Long Beach. The first time I pulled up near your perch, I did the standard “look down, don't look up, there but for the grace of God go I” routine. That's when I saw what looked like a swastika tattoo on your heavily inked ankle. I drove away and told myself it was just my guilty conscience making excuses for not giving you my spare change. But then a week later, the same thing happened. Yep, you have a big-ass swastika on your ankle.
And you ain't gettin' a nickel from me.
