While commuting home, I plopped down. Immediately, I felt constrained–next to me, a massive person took up all of his seat, and one-third of my own. But that’s not the weirdest thing.
At least 350, I thought to myself. A standard lumberjack plaid shirt, and scraggly hair covered most of his face. He also had this cane. Not just any cane, I’ll have you know. It was supporting his massive arm, and it looked vaguely tribal doing it. Twin supports twisted around each other, bearing whatever weight he can drop on top. A notched pattern added a surface texture and a folk-art feel. Cast any spells with that staff? I thought to myself. I’m very brave with my internal dialogue..
His hair and frame reminded me of a golem from Judaica. This mental image was corroborated with his otherworldly cane. The pair together made for a tight squeeze (or tighter, really) on the train home.
But at least the commute was interesting.
“What’s his story?” I asked D. while we waited for pizza during out lunch hour.
“Who?” D. asked.
“That guy. The old one,” I said. “In all white. He’s kind of like an aging unicorn, no?” The man (of a certain age) was dressed in white. White shirt. White pants. White belt. White shoes. I imagined that he had opened his closet, and thought, hey, it’s Tuesday. White Tuesday..
D. tilted his head to take a sidelong peek. “Not sure, but I’ll take a look when I can.”
“Look at his ring, when you do.”
His ring was one of the first eyecatching things I had noticed. While he was ahead of us in line, he had pushed his credit card forward on the counter, it kind of stood out on his ring finger. It was massive, extending from knuckle to knuckle in a swirling weave of gold, capped at both ends with a thin band. It effectively replaced a third of his finger.
“Ok, I’ll look. I did see his chain. Nice, right?”
It was hard to miss, when his disco shirt was unbuttoned to midchest. Flashes of John Basedow’s website, covers of romance novels, and now this guy. Moustachioed, euro-70s, and bald. I half expected strains of Disco Duck to play over the PA system. No such luck. He moved to the stool and burned the image of his fancy shoes in my brain. “Wow. Just wow.”
He had come into the pizza joint with two young girls. “His granddaughters, I presume,”
I murmured to D.
As they walked out, D. noted that the ring on his finger was on his right hand.
Ewww.
