The old man heard a description of some homicidal maniac. If it bleeds, it leads.
He was washing his morning face listening to the morning news and realized he fit the description.
You ever notice how many of those bastards are killing good-looking young women, lithe with bright smiles? The old man remembered thinking, hey, how about killing some of those old fat guys who took all our shit.
A description of some homicidal maniac would have you believe he spends a lot of time alone. He doesn’t go out much. Quiet, keeps to himself. Wears dark clothing. Never seen him in Bermuda shorts.
You know, that kind of guy.
Probably loves sitting around alone in his house drinking Steel Reserve eating crunchy Cheetos, orange crumbs on a black t-shirt, watching unpopular sports on his gigantic television. Travis Bickle Stays Indoors.
God knows, God knows, he’d tried. But all the neighbors, they look to be crazy. Fucking insane. Just no other explanation. No sane person outlines a driveway with forty-two ceramic animal sculptures. Back away from the kiln, for god’s sake!
One of them, the old man took for a drink. They were waiting at the door when the bartender arrived to open at 3 p.m. The old man couldn’t see to drive after dark. Neighbor was going on and on about the old man’s new Mercedes which is smarter than either can figure out. They were sitting at the Beer Frog and the neighbor couldn’t believe a glass of beer could cost six dollars. Four unbelievable glasses later, neighbor looks at the old man and says, “You’re not like the rest of us. And we know it.” Said it straight out.
They rode back together in silence each thinking, I don’t know about the other guy but I had a good time.
And never again. No! Thank you. Once is good. Thanks.
The old man’s idea of a homicidal maniac was Aileen Wournos. She’s out there killing awful icky awful middle-aged men. She should have gotten an award.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xitx9VD_dnc