i feel bad for Bob.

I finished my fast but short run at the gym and after taking a much needed steam I rushed over to the local coffee shop for an iced coffee and some focused writing that is coming much easier these days.  procrastination finally retiring after fifty years.  I AM GOING INSANE AS I WRITE THOUGH AS EACH TIME I LOOK UP TO MY SCREEN LETTERS ARE MISSING FROM MY WORDS AND I CANNOT CATCH THE FUCKER TO KNOW IF I MISSED THE LETTER OR THE FUCKING COMPUTER KEYBOARD IS SHIT.  ALMOST AS FRUSTRATING AS TRYING TO BLOW YOURSELF BUT ALWAYS JUST A MERE MILLIMETRE AWAY.  LIFE’S FUCKING FRUSTRATIONS!!!
anyway, I make it to the local coffee shop and as I enter I say “HI” to the local “slow” man who is always sitting outside the coffee shop smoking and staring.  he looks insane but doesn’t look dull.  I gravitate more to the insane than the dull.  so I said, “hi”, and he said, “HI”, back and I entered the coffee shop.  shortly after entering the “slow” man was inside as well.
“what’s your name?” he asked.
“Jack”, I responded.  What’s your name?”
“Bob.”  he said back.  “what are you getting?” he continued.
“A coffee.”
“I have a coffee already.  I drink one a day.  sometimes two.”
“Sounds great Bob.  I’ll talk to you shortly. need to order.”
“yeah right.  right.  order.  I am sitting here drinking my coffee.  I might need another one soon but I have no money.”
“Here’s a dollar.  that’s all I have left.  one dollar.”
I handed him the dollar and he pulled out a bottle of pills and put the dollar in the empty pill bottle and then I ordered my drink.
I got my iced coffee and said “bye” to Bob.
“are you leaving now?” he asked.
“yeh gotta get back to work.  busy day.”
“yeah…okay.  have a good day then.”  he continued.
I grabbed my iced coffee and walked outside.  I looked inside the coffee shop to see if Bob was looking out before I grabbed my seat.  Bob was looking out as I was about to sit down so I changed seats.  as I was about to sit in my new seat I noticed Bob looking out again so I went back to my first seat.  there was only one seat on the patio where I would be blocked from Bob’s vision but two elderly well put together ladies were occupying them so I went back to my first seat and hoped Bob’s vision wasn’t good.  Unfortunately it was.  within minutes of sitting down Bob was out on the patio again.
“I thought you said you had to leave.”  Bob barked at me.
“I do.  I just have to finish something first and then I am going to leave.  I’m very busy today. trying to stay focused.”  I replied back.
“Oh…I’m just going to grab a smoke.  are you leaving?”
“soon…very soon.”
“okay, well if you want to sit over in the corner I can talk to you while I smoke.”
“Sounds like a great idea Bob but I just have to do this one thing and then I have to leave.”
“Oh…okay…I’m going to smoke…do you like my hat?”
“Yeah…I noticed it earlier.  It’s a nice hat.  I like the eagle on it.”
Bob pulled off his baseball hat and showed me the hat.  it was just some average touristy hat that you get at a truck stop but Bob loved his hat.
“Yeah, thanks.  It’s a nice hat.”
“yes it is.”
“Guess what?”  Bob asked.
“what?”  I replied back.
“I tried to go to the Jews and Bazz (Blues and Jazz but Bob must have a speech impediment or brain impediment) but they wouldn’t let me in.”
“why not?”
“They told me that I had to pay five bucks.  five bucks for what?  to listen to some music.  just to listen to music.  rip off.  a big rip off.”
“Oh for sure.  And you still have to pay for beers!!!”
I was now resigned to the fact that no writing was going to be done so I was taking the opportunity to stir Bob up and he fell for the bait.
“Oh I know.  hahahahahahahahaha.  and the beers aren’t cheap.”  Bob said as he stared at me with a look of anger, confusion, and blankness all in one.
“no they’re not.  good beers though.”
“Oh I know.  I love beer.  but I only drink one a day.  sometimes two.  but sometimes they put the beers in a big mug with a handle on the glass.  I love the handle.  you know. I just love the handle.  sort of like coffee.  I love beer and I love coffee.  especially with the handles.  easier to drink you know?”
“Oh yes I know Bob.  I hate it when there’s no handle.  how the fuck are you supposed to drink the damn beer???”
“Oh I know.  Molson Canadian it says on the beer bottle.  in really big letters.”
“Oh yeah…I love Molson Canadian (I hate Molson Canadian but still winding Bob up)”
“Yeah…Molson Canadian.  good beer.  hahahahahahahaha.”  Bob continued wit that strange look of everything.
“Well I better get going Bob.  I have to go.”
PAUSE.  PAUSE.  PAUSE.
“Yeah…you have to go right?  where do you have to go?”
“I have to get back home.  lots of work left.”
“Oh yeah…yeah you better get back.”
“plus it loos like it’s going to rain.  how are you going t get home?”
“The bus.  I ride the bus for free.  I have a pass.”
“How do you ride the bus for free?” (I knew but didn’t know if Bob knew).
“I don’t know but I do.  Look at my pass.”  Bob tried to show me his pass but I stood up.
“I have to go Bob.  I really do.”
Oh yeah…I like the Chicago Blackhawks and I sit in my garage when it rains.  And I like Kane.  Patrick Kane.  And I was born in Surgery (Sudbury) and my Dad is sick and my MOm is live and they live somewhere but I’m not sure where.  hahahahahahaahaha.”
Bob went on and on and on and on.  he wouldn’t stop and I couldn’t leave.  I am way too nice even though I am a fucked up mess and I sat there as Bob continued.  story after story.  stories filled with crazy laughs with crazy looks and awkward pauses and scary stare downs and I sat in silence.  watching.  observing.  wondering.  wondering what was wrong with Bob.  did he have siblings?  did he have friends?  had he ever fucked anyone?  had h been to jail?  had he killed someone?  had he ever had a job?  I wondered about Bob and his life as he continued on and on about everything from hockey to beer to scars on his head to his parents to cops to “Surgery” and “Jews and Bazz” and all kinds of other things.  other topics.
I finally told Bob with a firm but friendly tone that I had to leave and he seemed upset.  But I had to go.  tight schedule.  tight focus.
as I stood up to leave Bob spoke one last time.
“where’s your car?”
“Right over there.  the blue one over there.”  I pointed to my blue car.
“Oh…yeah…”
PAUSE.  PAUSE.  PAUSE.
Bob looked at me with that death stare of confusion once again.
I began to walk away.
“Hey.”  Bob yelled.
“Yeah.”  I replied.
“Do you have ten bucks I could borrow?”
“Sorry Bob.  I don’t have any money.”
And with that I walked away to my car.
Bob walked back inside.
people are unique.  just listen.  some are dull.  some are slow.  some are funny.  some do blow.
some are smart.  some are dumb.  people are unique.  listen and love.  slow down…sometimes.  and sometimes talking and engaging in conversation is much better than rushing to jobs that you hate to make money for bosses that you hate.
fuck everyone and their fucking dumb rules of life and just live.
I feel bad for Bob.