Charles Smith wants to represent Indianapolis. His plan? Hot dogs.

“I got you on the first thing smokin’.”

It’s around 1 p.m. on a late October Monday, but the chilly afternoon does not deter Charles Smith, who has made hawking hot dogs his personal art form at his Road Dogs Indy cart on the east side of Monument Circle since September 2019.

The grill hisses to life as Smith presses an all-beef sausage onto the grates. After a brief baptism by spray butter, a glistening bun hits the grill too. The bread begins to char alongside its impending cargo.

In front of Smith's cart stands Dave, an AES employee who said his day was going well until he checked his email. As his lunch quietly sizzles and sputters beneath the grill lid, Dave debriefs Smith on an upset boss and a long day ahead. Eventually, Dave catches himself and starts to apologize.

“Sorry, I just—”

“Aw, nah, it’s OK, brother.”

After more than four years on the Circle, Smith, 49, has developed a habit of playing counselor. Days of talking to people have made him somewhat of an expert at reading them, he said.

“I’m the street psychiatrist out here, man,” he said. “You’d be surprised what people come out here and tell me. I’ve heard it all.”

Smith asks Dave if he wants chips and a drink. Sure, he says. He’ll splurge today. He picks out a bag of cheese Ruffles and a black cherry Faygo. He requests his regular hot dog — ketchup, mustard, relish.

“I hear your regular smegular,” Smith says. “Just six dollars to make ‘em scream and holler. No onions?”

Dave laughs. “No, I’ve got a stressful day. I don’t need any onions.”

Smith repeatedly engages in this back-and-forth with those who walk up to his cart.

At Road Dogs, customers are sir, ma’am, my brother or my friend. Ask for a soda and instead of a nod or a “gotcha” you’ll get: “I hear your Diet Coke, working hard. Would you like chips with that, my friend?”

Smith said he's always had a knack for sales. After graduating from Warren Central High School in 1993, Smith worked at flea markets throughout Indianapolis. He later ran a general merchandise store on the Eastside for 12 years until Amazon and other E-commerce sites forced him to move to selling hobby goods and holiday gifts online part-time.

After shuttering his storefront, Smith decided the lower inventory costs of a mobile food operation would be lower risk, higher reward.

“If you set a hot dog cart anywhere where there’s walking traffic, I’m willing to bet almost anything you can’t fail,” he said.

So in September 2019, Smith bet on himself. He bought a custom-built cart and rented a commissary kitchen where he could store it and prep his ingredients. Then he started slinging dogs.

A heaping zigzag of mustard, a row of neon-green relish and a scattering of celery salt for the Chicago faithful. A ladle of chili and a few jerks of hot sauce for those craving spice. A streak of ketchup with no glare of judgment for those who enjoy the often-taboo condiment.

“Hot dogs are universal for me,” Smith said. “When it comes down to food, it’s an open canvas. You can paint different regions on there.”

Standing at his propane-fueled easel with tongs in hand, Smith has watched the scene around him change over the years. In March 2020, he saw the Circle go from bustling and vibrant one day to eerily quiet the next. After the COVID-19 pandemic gutted nearby office buildings, a small but loyal clientele kept Smith afloat while several businesses around him sank.

Doug Stephenson, owner of Downtown Comics on Market Street just off the Circle, is one of Smith’s regulars. Stephenson has been ordering Carolina Red Hots Chicago-style about once a week since Road Dogs opened in 2019.

Stephenson described Smith’s distinct brand of hospitality as “almost over-the-top respectful.” At first, he thought it might be an act. Now, on the rare occasions he desires a change from the Chicago-style Red Hot, Stephenson’s only instruction to Smith is, “Yeah, whatever you think is good.”

As downtown steadily defines its new normal, Smith plans to remain at the center. Next year he hopes to operate a second cart and a trailer that’s currently being built. He plans to continue primarily selling downtown, though he isn't sure exactly where.

Once the cart and trailer are ready, he’ll hire employees. More hands and more equipment mean a larger menu, more hot dog varieties. If that goes well, maybe even a little grab-and-go restaurant someday.

“We’re going to the top, man,” he said. “I’m gonna be Indianapolis’ hot dog cart. I’m trying to put something special together that represents Indianapolis’ hot dog.”

If Smith succeeds, Stephenson said, it will be more than a sign of the Circle rebounding.

“I think it does say something about downtown, but it says more about someone with a lot of drive,” he said. “He’s out here working, and there’s days when you don’t make any money — well, relatively make any money — and he did it all the way through COVID and came out the other side. So that fortitude, that sheer will to succeed and get bigger, that’s what it takes to succeed in a small business.”

Like many devoted artists, Smith has shaped his life around his craft. At 5 a.m., he wakes up in his home on the Eastside, where he lives by himself. His previous roommate was a 15-year-old poodle named Bella. Smith buried Bella last month.

While he gets ready, Smith listens to motivational speakers like Les Brown or Rev. TD Jakes to “download positive energy.” Then it’s off to the Eastside kitchen, where he takes inventory and reduces piles of onions to a fine dice. Smith typically works the Circle from mid-morning until the evening unless he’s catering a private event. Although he sells throughout the winter, he said his pain threshold is around 40 degrees.

Even after Smith stows his cart for the night, it seldom leaves his mind.

“When I’m not thinking about this, I’m thinking about this,” he said.

Smith’s dogged commitment to the cart requires a degree of mental toughness. A long, slow day on the Circle can make him not want to come out the next. But with every early morning comes another chance to make a customer feel good.

“I love life, man,” Smith said. “One of my favorite hobbies is breathing. I wake up, and whatever it was that went wrong yesterday, I can right my wrongs.”

It’s 11:09 a.m. on a late fall Tuesday. Monument Circle slowly thaws beneath a cloudless sky as the temperature crawls just above freezing. Smith, clad in gloves, a knit hat and an olive-green hooded vest to brave the 29-degree wind chill, paces by his cart. Fewer than a dozen people mill about on the Circle.

The bustling streets and hurried lunch crowds on which so many downtown food vendors rely are far rarer now than when Smith started. He said while the Circle feels much safer than it did in the early days of the pandemic, it’s not the same as it was.

Still, it’s a new day for Smith. Another opportunity to correct what might have gone wrong yesterday. As Smith surveys the Circle, several open canvases await him.

In the heart of the city, the hot dog artist stands at his easel and prepares to paint.

Contact dining and drinks reporter Bradley Hohulin at bhohulin@gannett.com. You can follow him on Twitter @bradleyhohulin.

This article originally appeared on Indianapolis Star: Charles Smith wants to represent Indianapolis. His plan? Hot dogs.