The Eccentric and Me
"Hypocrites, all of them. Fucking snitches. Always complaining about me. I don't judge anyone, don't bother anyone but they always complain. That's why I like the night."
Great, so I'm the lucky individual who has the pleasure of your frequent visits every night.
Picture some 5' 7" Gaddafi look-a-like , dressed like a casting extra reject from the Bronx Tale with his signature fedora (or skully, baseball cap, top hat, insert random hat which changes each time I see him per night), high water slacks, cheap pleather shoes and Gorilla finger blunts somehow stuffed with the finest MJ this side of the Mississippi.
He reeks of weed, constantly attempts to sell me stuff he steals from the Goodwill bin, rails against immigrants (cheap labor), Muslims (jealously cover "their" women), Jews (they killed Jesus), blacks (thieves), Arabs (envious of American's freedoms), Hispanics (always talking about you in Spanish) basically anyone and everyone.
I like to call these type of folks "EOR" - Equal Opportunity Racist. They demonize all different cultures (including their own) while simultaneously having strange moments of empathy and understanding, a uniquely American phenomenon. He loves cooking, collecting cookbooks and giving me nightly lectures on kitchen cleanliness (which is why he doesn't get out and doesn't have a cooking job).
He says during the day he takes care of his honey (God bless her although I wonder if she's real), smokes weed and cooks. At night, he comes down to complain to me. Why? Because I'm here.
"It’s dangerous out there. There's a lot of homeless people walking around. They'll stab you. Plus you can't see black people that well at night," He says, exiting out the door to smoke one of the numerous blunts he'll indulge in during the night.
Does he even realize I'm Black. Whatever. What am I really expecting from this guy?
