It’s a damn shame the man didn’t have a name.
I mean, he was a good man. I thought so, at least.
But no, he said he didn’t have a name.
He told me that no one ever gave one to him.
How does that work?
That’s what I asked him.
But he ignored me.
He ignored me a lot.
Good man, though. I reckon he’s a good man.
He had a beard and he was pretty intelligent.
Lots of intelligent people turn out to be rotten.
Don’t ask me why. I don’t know why.
A good man should have a name, don’t you think so?
I think so.
He wore circle glasses that I thought were out of style.
They were alright on him, though, I must admit that. They were alright on him.
We talked on the sidewalk for a while, maybe an hour.
I don’t think that time passes the same for everyone. How could it?
Sorry pal, I don’t think so. I think time passes differently for everyone. You get it, don’t ya?
It’s just a damn shame the homeless man didn’t know his name.
Maybe he did and he just didn’t want to tell me.
The thing about this man is, well, his eyes were happier than mine.
You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes. Did you know that? Of course you did. We all know it deep down.
Yeah, you can tell almost everything about someone by their eyes alone.
I reckon that’s actually true.
I’m not happy about that being true, though . . .
Because everyone makes a comment about my eyes, that's why.
They really do.
They’ll tell me that I have a perfect little nose but terribly sad eyes. Sure, they all say that I am a handsome sonovabitch. They all do say that. But they always mention how sad my eyes are.
What does a handsome sonovabitch got to be sad about, anyway? That’s what I’ll ask myself sometimes. I really will.
What does a handsome, intelligent, athletic, privileged, degenerate have to be sad about, anyway? Huh? I’ll look myself in the mirror and ask myself that.
So that’s what the homeless man and I were discussing while I was on my way to school.
I was late again, but I didn’t care. No one cared if I was late. I was too popular to get in any real trouble at school. Everyone loved me there, it’s true. Only, I didn’t like being loved. So sometimes I would be nasty to people in hopes that I would hurt my reputation. It didn’t, though. They still loved me no matter how nasty I got. And I could be a real smartass. A real degenerate. A real showman.
Anyway, that’s what the old man without a name and I were talking about on my way to school.
He said he used to be handsome too and I laughed a little too hard at that. I think I hurt his feelings. I really think that I did.
He gave me a pull from his whiskey bottle anyway, though. Nice guy, he is. Very nice guy.
I told him that I was going to name him.
And he told me that I could try but that it probably wouldn’t stick.
So I didn’t try that hard. I shouted out a few names but he was right, none of them did stick to him. No name fit him. It was strange. Very strange.
You ever met someone and their name didn’t fit them? You know what I’m talking about? It just don’t fit who they are or what they look like? . . . Yeah, you know. Well he was worse than that. It’s like he was a slippery old man. I swear he was changing forms all the time. I swear it.
He told me that being beautiful in a society that worships aesthetics is a curse. Can you believe that? You can even be a goddamn victim if you’re a knockout. Can you believe that?
I laughed at him again but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He really is a good man. I bet he’s a good man, at least. Maybe a decent one.
He asked me if I knew what was worse than being beautiful.
I said, yeah, of course I knew. It’s being ugly.
He told me I was an intelligent young man despite being so pretty.
I hated being called pretty or cute. I ain’t a goddamn puppy. I ain't.
Anyway, I think he was a good man. He gave me another pull of whiskey. It was only 9am and I was getting a buzz. I am a lucky person, honest to God, I am.
. . . Does it matter which God? Pick one of them then.
That’s fine. I don’t care much about that stuff anyway. I really don’t. You can pick your team and believe in them as much as you want. Just don’t expect me to jump up and down for them too.
He gave me more whiskey and told me that I was intelligent and handsome. Good guy, he is. He meant what he was saying. I could tell. I can always tell when someone is lying to me. And to be honest with ya, I wish that wasn’t the case. I always know when someone is lying. I feel it in my stomach when someone lies to me. And it’s a real bummer. It really is. People lie a lot. Right to your face, too. They just lie as natural as they breathe. It’s true.
But not this guy. He didn’t lie. He was a good man, I reckon. But dammit, I still couldn’t name him no matter how hard I tried. You could’ve offered me a million bucks to name him and I still wouldn't have been able to do it. I could really use a million bucks right about now, too. Honestly. I could use it.
CH 11/30/24
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