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Wizened panhandler squatting at street corner,
and a stand-up comic with a craggy jawline plus
jocoseness on stage lay themselves on the line:
one hopes for a handout, the other coaxes you
to cachinnate. Sorrow of a jokester chasing jabber-
wockies gets to me. Why can’t people just be?
Settled with their sadness. Happiness? What is it?
I ask myself, when sad. Some questions come
with answers. Pigeonhole the critical ones, let
the pint-sized be all over the place.