Most of your “truths” about Deadheads turn out to be partially true at best, but I can tell you this with no hesitation: this guy got taken care of.
Within minutes of hoisting this sign, some half-Japanese/half-Jewish guy from Long Island or hippie chick who spent a year in Japan found him and treated this fellow to some world-class hospitality.
If you’re not careful, a Deadhead might hospitality you right into the hospital. Hope this guy’s okay, we should check on him.
Also, that seems like a ton of work to say “miracle,” doesn’t it? I googled it (if you thought I actually spoke Japanese, then you can’t sit with us at lunch anymore) and all of that in the red and blue is one word: miracle. The guy who invented Japanese was not a minimalist; there is no kanji sumbol for “brevity.”
“Yes, Japanese Boswell-san?”
“How shall ‘miracle’ be spelled? I notice the foreign devils get the idea across in seven letters, though not the letters you might think.”
“Which foriegn devils do you speak of, Boswell-san?”
“Who can tell one of their heathen tongues from the next? I think the British.”
“Ugh. Provincial island-folk obsessed with tradition, status, and tea.”
“To the question at hand: miracle. How is it spelled?”
“Umm…guy standing on top of house, guy in a cape at a gas pump.”
“Gas pump, gotcha. Next question: should we cook fish?”