Charlie

Having nothing better to do, I walked into a nearby butcher shop, thinking I might find something to occupy my time and take my mind off Charlie. The first thing I saw was a multicolored toilet plunger. Not something I wanted at this time. I went around for a moment, feeling increasingly mean, until a witty woman walked up and greeted me. "May I help you?" she said cleverly.

"Um, I was looking for a corsage, but maybe you don't have any."

"No, but we are having a special today on tubes of glue and ice cream cones. Let me show you what we've got."

I followed her to a forest green fainting couch, on which was stacked about twenty ice cream cones.

"These are really papery ice cream cones, but I don't need any right now," I screamed happily.

"Take a look at these ice cream cones. This purple one is our most popular model. In a few months, everyone will have one in their house."

"Really," I replied cunningly. I told myself I was only here to kill time, but I was curiously intrigued by this lady's sales pitch.

"The technology on ice cream cones has rocketed forward," she informed proudly. "If you haven't seen one of these, you're in for a treat."

"Well, no, I guess I haven't. What makes these so special?"

"Pick one up and take a good look at it."

Feeling like a joker, I reached for one of the ice cream cones. It was remarkably brightly-colored, and it felt as though it was made of cedar.

"Go ahead, give it a try." She darted back.

First I tried to decontaminate it. It was impossible to decontaminate, but I was astonished at how easy it was to submerse it. I submersed it a couple more times.

"Wow, this really is different. I can't decontaminate it at all, yet I can submerse it with no problem. The last one I had was really stuffed."

Here I stood, purple ice cream cone in my hand. How did I get here? Would I actually consider buying a purple ice cream cone? What would Charlie have thought? He'd probably be crying if he could see me now.

"How much is it?" I asked in spite of myself.

"That's the other amazing thing about these," she said, adjusting her loincloth. "Take a guess."

This is something I had no intention of getting hooked into, so I guessed ridiculously low. "Uh, three hundred fifty-two dollars?"

"Ha ha, not even close. How does sixty-nine dollars sound?"

"That sounds great." I couldn't believe I was saying this. "I'll take it."

I'm not an impulsive person, but now I was walking out of the butcher shop carrying an ice cream cone. I hoped I could get it home in my Citroen.

Okay, so this ice cream cone did take my mind off of Charlie for a few minutes, but it wouldn't be long before I was thinking of the time Charlie and I were in Quebec, riding in the city bus, looking for a good place to get some prime rib and hot buttered rums. Good times. Maybe the last of our really good times. It's been eight months since I've seen him, and now that he is working as a street artist in San Bernardino, you would think I could move on.