Let me say this before I say anything else: I don't remember anything. Zilch. Zip. Nada.
Well, I don't. Don't look at me like that. It's true. I don't lie. You can trust. Well one time they gave me the wrong change back at the Kerouac Cafe, they thought I had given them ten, but I only gave --
Oh, yes, you're right. Not relevant. Long time ago. Months. Years even. I wouldn't do anything like that again. But anyways, yes, that man. Of course I remember him. I remember him!
Here's what I can tell you. He was tall. I'm talking tall like a bean pole, wide as a doorframe. Big, square, and broad -- his hair practically dragged against my ceiling, like one of those L-bars on a bumper car.
Well -- wait. I'm thinking about it a little more and you know what, I'm not a hundred percent on that. It's funny -- I'm thinking of someone else. I definitely am. Ha! How about that -- I tell you I'm honest and then look at what I go and do. No, tall is an exaggeration. He wasn't that different from me. I'm not a bumper car. I'm normal. He was like that. Normal. Thin. Average. Kinda fuzzy on the details.
Okay, okay, you got me completely. I don't remember! I can't remember! I don't know how I don't remember -- it's not about who he is -- or was -- but what it was like to be around him. You were never around him so you wouldn't know. When he smiled at me, I could feel it. It was hot, like a theater light. The strangest thing. I thought it was just the blood going to my face, but it wasn't. I'm not exaggerating -- I felt it. It could have burned me if I were closer, it was that warm. Seriously, it could've! And now that I think about it, I remember something else, too. His complete face escapes me -- it's like it was a soup, eyeballs and lips all floating around mixed up in the bowl -- but I can picture his eyes. They were like two gigantic copper slugs. Not the little snail thingy. Like the little copper cones at the end of bullets.
It was that I was just so curious about him. That's why I wanted to meet him. I didn't have any other intention. I mean, don't you want to know your neighbors too? His name was Gary something. George. Or... no, no, I'm wrong, it wasn't quite like that... it's so strange how all the letters got mixed up too...
"Sir?"
Nothing. I knocked again, and called out louder:
"Excuse me, mister... um..."
I eyeballed at the envelope. A big, floppy, padded one. Mister For-once-can-the-post-guy-deliver-this-shit-to-the-right-place. Or whatever your name is. What d