--Hi! He said.
--Hi, I answered, but I didn't recognize him.
--You don't remember me, do you?
Actually, I had a suspicion, but I didn't say so.
--Those shelves still holding up?
Indeed I did remember. Must have been 20 years ago that he built the shelves in my office. Good work, too, but it took him forever.
--I built good shelves, he said. But I figured out my earnings at about minimum wage. I had to give it up.
--What do you do now?
--Oh, I've got a little disability and I live in my shop. I'm a slacker. I wasn't a slacker when I came here, but I'm a slacker. Easy to be a slacker in this town. Cheap to live. Used to be anyway. Lots of free entertainment. Or used to be. I'm a slacker.
Then he started to tell me how Bush and Cheney and the Mossad brought down Building No. 7 at the World Trade Center.
The devil is, I think he might be right. Not about Bush and Cheney and the Mossad, but the slacker part. Of course, I have no first-hand exposure: I don't live in my shop.
Oh wait: maybe this is my shop.