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Where is the Baby, Roy?

07 Jun

Where’s the baby?

Good question.

But, it’s a question that Roy cannot answer.

For those who came in late, take your seats and I will catch you up.

Roy, not his real name, is more than a little crazy.

I would say it’s in the eyes, but Roy may not have any.

Eyes, that is.

8pm at night, and Roy is wearing the darkest sunglasses you can buy.

Those odd, pitch black wrap arounds that the eye doctor gives you when he dilates your eyes.

Also, Roy is pushing a baby carriage.

Actually, it is the metal frame of a baby carriage without any fabric or padding on it.

So it’s either not done being made or it’s in the process of being dismantled.

And Roy?

Roy appears to be in the same state of being dismantled.

He just mutters and rocks back and forth, even when he walks.

I cannot seem to get anything out of him other than a word that sounds like “Roy”.

I began trying to find out about Roy like any good zoologist, befriending him with food.

You never try to hand feed a strange animal. (Especially one who might have a violent chemical load going on.)

I am a scientist, but I am not stupid. (Jane Goodall never had to deal with silverback meth heads, there’s a difference.)

So, after feeding him a cookie, some string cheese, and a banana, I am no closer to figuring out Roy’s secret language than when he arrived at the front door of Starbucks and rammed his baby carriage into the front door. (The millenial that was standing at the door all but shit his skinny jeans in shock. A twenty-something having a heart attack is worth seeing, trust me.)

Roy has all the earmarks of a long time homeless.

The smell is a gimme, face is a grubby mess, but his hands are oddly clean.

The clothes are dirty, baggy and many layered.

He has USC hat. I am assuming that he is an alumni. (So many USC alum end up like Roy. Go Notre Dame!)

I am on the far left, Roy is at the next table, and there are 2 skittish teens on the other side of Roy, studying like good children.

The kids are eyeing the door and trying to figure out how fast they can pack up all their study books if all this goes to hell.

Long experience has my best time of packing up and getting the fuck out of Dodge down to 1.1 minutes.

Roy just belched, then farted so loud, I am shocked he didn’t shit himself.

The teens are officially spooked and packing up.

And, it seems that it is time to go.

Roy did shit himself. (Now I will never find out what happened to the baby.)

I set a new record by being out the door in 58 seconds flat.

Just as the door was closing, the miracle happened.

Roy raised his hand and mouthed the words “Thank you”.

I am a fucking saint.

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Posted by on June 7, 2019 in Uncategorized

 

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