The great thing about walking around in flannel polar bear pajamas is, they don’t know what the hell kind of whack job I am. The proverbial elephant in the room, the hallucinated fish under the bed, the wrong man to meet walking into a 7-11.
There’s a guy in slacks, a dress shirt and a burgundy tie. He’s paunchy in the waist, and sort of doughy in the face. He’s standing behind me in line and snorts a laugh. “What are you up to tonight?”
I glance back at him. I’m holding a six pack of beer, two bags of chips, and waiting for a pack of smokes. I look at him. “I’m battling evil,” I say and turn around again.
“Those are some fancy pants,” he says, and snorts again.
I turn around. Give his monkey suit a quick glance. “Look buddy, I don’t kick cocks out of your mouth while you’re working down at the office, don’t tell me how to do my job.”
He sort of laughs, but stalls out. “What did you say?”
Jared stands behind the counter. He pulls a pack of smokes from the rack and sets them next to my purchase. “How’s the novel going?” he asks.
“Sucks ass.”
“Got all dressed up, huh?”
“Hoping to meet somebody.”
“Hey pal.” I get a tap on the shoulder.
I turn.
“What did you say to me?”
“Do I know you?” I ask.
“No.”
“Let’s leave it like that.” I pay Jared, collect my bag, and pack my smokes against my thigh as I’m walking away.
Andrew Tomacelli 