The Captain Is Out to Lunch

“I really like your signature,” the girl said.

Another girl walked over and looked at the signature.

“His signature keeps changing,” said Linda.

“I have to keep signing my name in books,” I said.

“He's a writer,” Linda said.

“Really? What do you write?” one of the girls asked.

“Tell her,” I said to Linda.

“He writes poems, short stories and novels,” she said.

“And a screenplay,” I said. “Barfly.” “Oh,” smiled one of the girls, “I saw it.” “Did you like it?” “Yes,” she smiled.

“Thank you,” I said.

Then we turned and walked off.

“I heard one of the girls say as we walked in, “I know who that is,” said Linda.

See? We were famous. We got into the car and drove over to the shopping center to get something to eat near I. Magnin's.

We got a table, had turkey sandwiches, apple juice and cappuccinos. From the table we could see a goodly portion of the mall. The place was virtually empty. Business was bad. Well, we had a hundred dollar coupon to blow. We'd help the economy.

I was the only man there. Just women sat at the tables, alone, or in twos. The men were elsewhere. I didn't mind. I felt safe with the ladies. I was resting. My wounds were healing. I could stand a little shade. Damned if I could leap off of cliffs forever. Maybe after a respite I could dive over the edge again. Maybe.

We finished eating and went over to I. Magnin's.

I needed shirts. I looked at thirts. Couldn't find a damned one. They looked like they had been designed by half– wit. I passed. Linda needed a purse. She found one, marked down 50%. It was $395. It just didn't look like $395. More like $49.50. She passed. There were 2 chairs with elephant heads on the backs. Nice. But they were thousands. There was a glass bird, nice, $75 but Linda said we had no plae to put it. Same with the fish with blue stripes. I was getting tired. Looking at things made me tired. Department stores wore me down and stamped on me. There was nothing in them. Tons and tons of crap. If it were free, I wouldn't take it. Don't they ever sell anything likeable?

We decided maybe another day. We went to a bookstore. I needed a book on my computer. I needed to know more. Found a book. Went to the clerk. He tabbed it up. I paid with a card. “Thank you,” he said, “would you be good enough to sign this?” He handed me my lastest book. There, I was famous. Noticed twice in the same day. Twice was enough. Three times or more and you were in trouble. The gods were making it just right for me. I asked his name, wrote it in, scribbled something, my name and a drawing.

We stopped at the computer store on the way in. I needed paper for the laser printer. They didn't have any. I showed my fist to the clerk. Made me think of the old days. He recommended a place. We found it on the way in. We found everything there, cut-rate. I got enough laser pape to last two years and likewise mailing envelopes, pens, paper clips. Now, all I had to do was write.

We drove on in. The security man had left. The tile man had come and gone. He left a note, “I will be back by 4 p.m.” We knew the tile man wouldn't be bak at 4 p.m. He was crazy. Bad childhood. Very confused. But good with tiles.

I packed the stuff upstairs. I was ready. I was famous. I was a writer.

I sat down and opened the computer. I opened it to STUPID GAMES. Then I started playing Tao. I was getting better and better at it. I seldom lost to the computer. It was easier than beating the horses but somehow not as fulfilling. Well, I'd be back Wednesday. Playing the horses tightened up my screws. It was part of the scheme. It worked. And I had 5,000 sheets of laser paper to fill .