Gip was a sort of drooping figure. His back sagged. His cheeks and eyes sagged. Even his words seemed to sag. Everything about Gip, in short, seemed to be sagging and drooping in some way.
To survive, Gip, like most, made money. He did this in a variety of ways. One day he would be skulking along a street, for instance, and he would chance upon something that at one point must have resembled a desk. It now resembled something else entirely, and thus Gip would set his sagging frame down next to it and ask people walking by if they would perhaps like to buy a paddle or broom or mound or shelf or whatever it was he thought that person looked as if they might enjoy purchasing. Gip had found that all a thing needed in order to sell was a man nearby selling it, and he nearly always found customers for his found goods.
Gip did other things to make money too, like carrying things for someone in need of their things being carried or speaking about something in an informed manner to whomever needed something informing said to them or simply submitting his body to be poked and prodded by someone in need of a body to poke and prod. Gip, then, like most, made money.
He did all sorts of other things too, of course. He showed up at various places and then subsequently would leave. He would eat supper amongst groups of other people, or sometimes just by himself. He made plans and concerned himself with current events and even sometimes formed romantic attachments. All of these things, as well as a good many other things, were things that Gip did.
The story of Gip, then, is really like the story of anyone else. He was a man who sagged and drooped, yes, but he was also a man that made money and ate things and occasionally formed romantic attachments. He liked certain things, as we all do, just as he disliked certain things. To mention that he was a sagging, drooping figure was a mistake, I fear, for it may have, for a moment anyway, indicated that he was in some way unique. Gip is not at all unique, and I apologize if for even an instant he made that impression.
To survive, Gip, like most, made money. He did this in a variety of ways. One day he would be skulking along a street, for instance, and he would chance upon something that at one point must have resembled a desk. It now resembled something else entirely, and thus Gip would set his sagging frame down next to it and ask people walking by if they would perhaps like to buy a paddle or broom or mound or shelf or whatever it was he thought that person looked as if they might enjoy purchasing. Gip had found that all a thing needed in order to sell was a man nearby selling it, and he nearly always found customers for his found goods.
Gip did other things to make money too, like carrying things for someone in need of their things being carried or speaking about something in an informed manner to whomever needed something informing said to them or simply submitting his body to be poked and prodded by someone in need of a body to poke and prod. Gip, then, like most, made money.
He did all sorts of other things too, of course. He showed up at various places and then subsequently would leave. He would eat supper amongst groups of other people, or sometimes just by himself. He made plans and concerned himself with current events and even sometimes formed romantic attachments. All of these things, as well as a good many other things, were things that Gip did.
The story of Gip, then, is really like the story of anyone else. He was a man who sagged and drooped, yes, but he was also a man that made money and ate things and occasionally formed romantic attachments. He liked certain things, as we all do, just as he disliked certain things. To mention that he was a sagging, drooping figure was a mistake, I fear, for it may have, for a moment anyway, indicated that he was in some way unique. Gip is not at all unique, and I apologize if for even an instant he made that impression.
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