I guess Spirit was always on acid, or bad acid if that's not redundant. Most days I saw him with tight black jeans and no other clothing. He is relatively tall and dark complected. He has long black hair and stubble-short beard. He would walk around with his head down and shoulders arched backward. His arms outstretched behind him with his hands curled as if grabbing the air. It wouldn't be unusual for him to stop, look into space and snarl or growl, and then continue on his way.
I was talking to Smart one morning as he was eating some leftover potatoes. Spirit walked by and sat in front of the door. He had been walking around barefoot for the lasts few days. Today however, he was wearing an old pair of black tennis shoes. He asked Smart if he could have some of the leftovers and before receiving an answer he dug his dirt-caked fingers into the food. Smart remarked to Spirit that the shoes he had on were not his. "Yes they are," said Spirit, in the tone of voice of a defiant child. He took off one of his shoes to reveal on open sore on his foot.
"I'm not sayin' they're not yours now. I'm just sayin' you don't know where those shoes have been." Spirit looked down at the shoes and cocked his head from side to side as if contemplating a recently discovered dilemma. He got up, took off the other shoe and kicked them both into the gutter. This action took several attempts and he walked off, barefoot. Smart and I exchanged an exasperated glance.
"Spirit! Spirit! Jesus man! Come back here and put on those goddamn shoes ! It's better to wear those shoes than to walk around barefoot!" Spirit came back, lowered his brow and kind of snarled at us. He retrieved the shoes and put them back on. Someone asked Smart if he was going to finish the potatoes. "Fuck no man, I ain't gonna to touch those after Spirit shoved his nasty hands in there."
"Spirit touched those? Fuck that man."