Hamlet

Having nothing better to do, I walked into a nearby deli, thinking I might find something to occupy my time and take my mind off Hamlet. The first thing I saw was a striped etching. Not something I wanted at this time. I slumped around for a moment, feeling increasingly agitated, until a wicked man walked up and greeted me. "May I help you?" he said merrily.

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

"No, but we are having a special today on bags and helmets. Let me show you what we've got."

I followed him to a scarlet pedestal, on which was stacked about twenty-three helmets.

"These are really greasy helmets, but I don't need any right now," I continued cleverly.

"Take a look at these helmets. This khaki one is our most popular model. In a few lifetimes, everyone will have one in their house."

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

"The technology on helmets has rocketed forward," he pronounced sadly. "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 sap, I reached for one of the helmets. It was remarkably prickly, and it felt as though it was made of tin.

"Go ahead, give it a try." He hobbled back.

First I tried to bury it. It was impossible to bury, but I was astonished at how easy it was to score it. I scored it a couple more times.

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

Here I stood, khaki helmet in my hand. How did I get here? Would I actually consider buying a khaki helmet? What would Hamlet have thought? He'd probably be laughing if he could see me now.

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

"That's the other amazing thing about these," he said, adjusting his sarong. "Take a guess."

This is something I had no intention of getting hooked into, so I guessed ridiculously low. "Uh, one hundred thirty-eight dollars?"

"Ha ha, not even close. How does one hundred fifty-six 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 deli carrying a helmet. I hoped I could get it home in my tricycle.

Okay, so this helmet did take my mind off of Hamlet for a few minutes, but it wouldn't be long before I was thinking of the time Hamlet and I were in Karachi, riding in the transporter, looking for a good place to get some wienerschnitzel and Tom Collins. Good times. Maybe the last of our really good times. It's been eight centuries since I've seen him, and now that he is working as a student in Washington, you would think I could move on.