|
There's an interesting character named "Thickie" who makes regular appearances at a bar in my neighborhood. For five dollars a pop, Thickie will allow you to strike him as hard as you can in the back of his head with a hockey stick. On more occasions than I can count, I have witnessed moustached vagabonds, tattooed derelicts, cancerous barflies and red-faced fraternity brothers take their best shots at Thickie, breaking hockey sticks across his head and neck, but I have never ONCE seen Thickie fall or wince when struck. Even after repeated blows, the trauma appears to have no immediate effect. Thickie is easily the most rectangular man I have ever seen. His head is nearly as wide as his shoulders. He is a meaty, clay-like man with a perpetual sweaty sheen like a warm glazed donut. My friends and I have discussed Thickie at length over many pints, and the best we can figure is that he is at least mildly retarded. One Friday night a few weeks back, we pooled our money and purchased a short conversation with Thickie. I bought him a beer, but he refused it, giggling that he only drank Sunny Delight or apple juice. He spoke at length about his love of "X the Owl" from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. I learned that he'd had a younger brother who had died because "his belly had hurt." Thickie's mother had recently "left to play with the angels." He had never known his father and seemed somewhat confused by the question when we raised it. Before his mother left, she had told Thickie that he would soon have to fend for himself. He was having a rough time with this sudden responsibility. For example, Thickie had never had to buy soap for himself before. When he went to the store to pick some up, his main priority was that he didn't want the soap to wash off his testosterone. Also, he had gone from store to store specifically looking for red colored soap, and when he finally found some, the clerk had charged him twenty-three dollars for two bars. When he washed with it, it burnt his skin and made him smell "like roasted flowers." If you'd like to meet Thickie for yourself, he usually shows up at Roscoe's Grill on Fifth Street between ten and midnight on Fridays and Saturdays. I usually sit by the jukebox.
|
|