Part 8: The Extra Ordinary Man

   I'm sitting down in Foo Foods, the same place I met and forgot Ms. Pigg. Brian Bunderson sits across from me in all his limbless beauty. Watching him eat is like watching porn. It's disgusting, it's exploitation, and yet it's strangely entertaining. He looks up from his food, squints at me, and says, "You found a shirt."
   It's true. I've found a blue work shirt to go with my dress socks. They're so heavy. They have weights in them, but no matter how hard I try, I can't get rid of the weights. They're so heavy.
   Hey, so, Brian, tell me about yourself, why don't you have limbs?
   "Well, society tries to get rid of your limbs anyway, Leeroy."
   Oh, right. I know what you're saying. The sky is blue.
   "So, I figured, I might as well get rid of them myself, so at least I made the choice to do it."
   Sometimes, my Mom made me dinner. I'm just going through the motions with this conversation.
   "So, tell me about yourself Leeroy."
   "What?"
   "Tell me. Why'd you all of a sudden start wearing clothes. Hell, for that matter, when'd you stop?"
   "Um." I play with my noodles a little bit with my right hand. My left hand has a note with the words "I am the Extra Ordinary Man" on the front and "You'll need 7 of these" on the back. "Um." I repeat.
   "Look, Leeroy," Brian says, "You were just waiting for your turn to talk. What's the matter with you?"
   I pause. "Well. See that old man over there, destroying his food? He's obviously high as nuts. Why in the world does he need to be high as nuts to enjoy himself? Why can't he just enjoy himself?"
   "Um." It was Brian's turn.
   I continue. "Nobody loves anybody, Brian. Nobody loves anybody, and everybody fucks everybody. My life was exactly the same, as far as I can remember. I don't remember much, but I have nightmares about it every night. I don't sleep, I dream. I had a wife and a kid. I was fond of my wife. I loved my kid. I was writing a book. And then I couldn't take that mediocrity anymore, so I ran away and stopped wearing clothes. And now some asshole has found pages of my book and is leaving notes for me on the back of the pages. I can't remember, but I think I know who it is. And this asshole is leaving me work clothes. I bet it's a woman."
   "I like women."
   "So do I."
   Brian thinks for a second. "Are you sure you wrote the book first? Or could you have written on the back of the notes people were leaving you afterwords, to exercise your demons or something?"
   "I-." Wait. I can't breathe. Everything I see is everything I lose.
   Brian's right.