Pizza Anyone?

There was this homeless guy Hyrdafry that used to hang around Dover drinking a cup of nothing and claiming that he was responsible for the death of Biggie Smalls.

Hey, Hydrafry. Did you kill Biggie Smalls?
"Shit yeah! Notorious B.I.G.!"

I haven't seen him in a long time, but the last time I did, it's pretty much the way you want to remember a homeless guy. Okay, you'd rather the last time you see a homeless guy be at his housewarming party, but this wasn't so bad either.

I had just left some useless college-resume-building school activity with pizza and bagels that were going to be thrown out. I went with my high school ex Maggie to try to give it to a soup kitchen or someplace where it wouldn't go to waste, but we couldn't find anything that was open. The one church we went to was even closed. I didn't even know that could happen.

We were driving past JFK park and I look over and see Hydrafry sitting on a bench talking with some guy. I stop the car and get out and say I'm going to go over and see if they want the pizza and bagels. Maggie tells me not to and says they're going to attack me, but I bravely wander into the mouth of the beast where they remain seated and politely say "Sure" to my offer of food.

Hydrafry did not have a cup of nothing and was not speaking in tongues about dead rapper conspiracy theories. He seemed like his head was on straight for one time in the five or so times I ever actually spoke to him. It was a sunny day, shorts weather, Hydrafry had velcro shoes, food and a friend. For a homeless guy, not the worst situation. Then I never saw him again.

I remember three rumors about Hydrafry - 1) He killed Christopher Wallace, 2) He owned three or more houses, 3) He was homeless because he got messed up on acid and mushrooms and because of that, saying "Hydrafry" was a trigger that would make him start talking nonsense.

The first two...come on. But the third might not be so out of the question. Once my co-worker was in New York and had to go to the ATM to deposit a check. She gets to the bank and is about to go inside when she sees a bum laying on the floor with his ass half hanging out.

Not wanting to disturb the bum during his "activities," afraid he wasn't exactly the most stable minded of people, and not the least bit happy that the security guard normally on duty to prevent half-moon homeless guys from sleeping on bank property was absent, she flagged down a passing cop to kick the guy out.

Cop walks in. "Alright guy, let's move it...what the fuck?"

Bum grabs a nice oily slice of New York City pizza and slides it down into his dirty pants. Mmmm. Fromunda.

How the guy wasn't arrested, I don't know. The cop told him to clean up his mess and hit the road. He took that to mean fall all over the place while gathering his things.

While I was cracking up, my phone rings for an interview that I have no interest in conducting, thus partially ruining my enjoyment of the story. But I was chuckling to myself about it later when good old Mr. Fry popped back into my mind for the first time in I can't remember how long.

Unfortunately, I couldn't help thinking that even though he was sitting having a conversation with his fellow man of the street on a quiet park bench, acting the most normal that I had ever seen him, that I gave some pizza to a homeless man who claimed to have killed Biggie Smalls and enjoyed sipping air from a styrofoam cup.

Is it a stretch to picture Hydrafry's velcro shoes and crinkly butt cheeks on the floor in front of an ATM, laying half on top of an empty Dominos box? I guess not anymore.