Oliver Benjamin
walking. That boy is a world-class wanderer, I tell you. And this is a
town famous for nobody walking in it.”
Roy noticed the bag lady had passed out on the floor and crossed
over to her. She had coughed up something vile. Roy crouched down
over her and shook her shoulder gently. When he patted the woman’s
face lightly with his palm she let out a hollow groan.
“Oh, man,” Roy sighed, “Call the paramedics.”
A loud crash came from the kitchen. They ran in to see what was
going on and found the kid brandishing a kitchen knife at Bennie,
who was desperately trying to calm him down. Leona was hiding
behind the refrigerator, trying to be composed, yet cat-like.
“Keep your fucking hands off my clothes!” the boy screamed
advancing with the knife. Bennie was trying to convince him that
nobody was trying to take anything from him, except maybe his
weapon. Then in one fluid motion he grabbed his wrist, swept his
legs, and sent him to the ground. The knife flipped upwards and
lodged into the ceiling. At the same time the boy, in a fetal position,
was stuck in a much lower place. His odd little world had become
inverted.
Roy surveyed the situation and announced, “Okay. I guess we’ll
be needing two ambulances. Anybody else feeling ill? I might be able
to arrange a group discount. Anyone got a cough? No? Okay, then.”
He walked to the phone and picked up the receiver. But instead of a
dial tone there was a recording informing him that his service had
been suspended pending payment of an overdue bill.
“Watch the shop. Don’t let it go anywhere,” he said and strolled
out to the Promenade to call from a pay phone. After the day’s only
two visitors were taken away he went out for a long stroll. He headed
nowhere in particular, and didn’t return until very late that evening.
2. Roy
Roy hadn’t always been on the fringe. He had once been one of the
great philosopher-kings of coffee. A sign hanging on a wall in
Undergrounds proclaimed this, his personal motto: You are what
you drink. If true, then Roy was pure coffee. He believed in it the
same way others might believe in a God, a flag, or an ideology. For
Roy, coffee was poetry in reverse, channeled from the world, past the
lips, over the tongue and ultimately into that great organ of meaning
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