CONVO WITH THE DRUNKARD, ACT I

God, here he comes. Is this guy ever sober? Maybe I can hide in the package room. Naw, he'll just stand at the desk and wait me out like one of those Graboids from the Tremors movies. Might as well dance with the devil. With the bubbles floating up from his mouth, head rolling around on his neck and giant Cheshire cat-like grin on his face, our conversations generally start like this:

"It's rough out there, they tried to kidnap me" 

"Who?"

"These guys. They just. They just knock me down, and kidnapped me."

"Really!"

"Yeah, I was at the place, and they just kidnapped me and I jumped out here!"

This is the only guy who constantly is kidnapped yet always magically ends up being dumped off here at his apartment building. I wonder.

"Did you call the police?"

"No. These guys are Mafia . . . from New York. But the girl at work has got it all covered."

"I see."

"We got in trouble because the client was doing their part, but the girls were beautiful. You should be able to tell them that. They know. They like sex. You're black, so you know they like big dicks."

"Oh"

"Yeah, but they like the BBC (Big Black Cock for the unaware). I'm no match"

"Ah. Ok."

"I'll be back brother, I got something for you upstairs, love you brother."

The Drunk proceeds to grab my right hand and kiss it like I am the Pope.

"Ok, see ya."

Thanks God, it's over. Usually he stays up there once he hops on the elevator. Surprised this was such a short encounter. He's usually down here for an hour or two. God was merciful on me today.