My Dad is Christopher Walken

"Life is too short" I was saying to Hugo, when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught this guy rolling down the block. He was bobbing and and weaving, arms flailing, mouth hanging open like the mayor of Moron-town. He wore a pork pie hat and a corduroy vest. His sneakers were two different colors.

"Wait," said Hugo, following my gaze. "Do I know that dude."

"I think that's LoBianco," I said.

We were sitting on the steps of Ye Olde Brown Pub down on 7th street eating lunch, Hugo splattering a meatball sub all over his black tee and me attacking a turkey guac wrap.

"No that ain't LoBianco" he argued. "LoBianco has just the one ear, remember?"

"Right, he had that Van Gogh complex. That guy reminds me of him though, a two-eared LoBianco." I laughed, sometimes I crack myself up.

The staggering clone of LoBianco drew a bit closer. He stopped at the magazine kiosk on the corner and said something apparently funny, since there he was chuckling uncontrollably, and it looked like he was annoying the proprietor, Franti was his name, the kiosk guy; we bought our ZigZags and True Danger from him, great guy, Franti, friendly and all. Franti didn't seem amused at this sloppy stranger, in fact I've never seen him look that sour-pussed.

"Anyway, I need to touch base with Helga pronto" I was saying, trying to ignore the scene and  resume the convo with H., but here came that two-eared LoBianco fellow right up on us. I could tell he was plastered, smelt it on 'em.

"I gotta proposition fuh you boys" he began.

"What is it," I said a little sharp-like. I don't take too kindly to strangers butting in to my private convos you know.

"Yeah, gotta little proposition, My name is Frederick Fujitsu Jensen and I happened to be afflicted with  a fearful condition called Hapsburg Syndrome," he continued as if he had this spiel memorized. "It's an unfortunate malady which causes the sufferer to appear inebriated at all times."

Now I've heard some outrageous skeins of bullshit in my time but this had to rank in the top five; number one being my mom's telling us our dad was Christopher Walken.

"Take a hike," Hugo broke in.  "can'tcha see we're eating here. Got me a meatball parm. Go 'way."

"...my current situation leaves me bereft of funds in which to combat this odious scourge," the silly ass persisted. "Imagine, appearing to be drunk each and every day. It's no pleasure cruise, my friends."

I had all I could do not to choke.

"What are you looking for? I said.

"Whatever you can afford."

Hugo practically spit a whole meatball out of his mouth. "Didn't I tell you to beat it. I swear I'll take a rubber hose to ya."

Fredrick Fujitsu Jensen tilted forward, a bit off balance, his eyes closed for a couple of seconds, then caught himself right before he would have face-planted. He smiled stupidly, first at Hugo then more broadly at me.

"You know a friend of mine had that same hat" I said.

He removed the pork pie revealing a bald head and a tattoo: a dotted line running from his crown back about two inches to a tee, the cross of which ran to his temples on either side.

"Here, it's yours," said the stranger flipping the lid flamboyantly and then presenting it with a bow. "For the low price of twenty five bucks."

As if the tattoo wasn't enough.

"How 'bout the real, real low price of zip, zilch... free?"

At that I popped the last bite of my wrap into my mouth and grabbed the pork pie hat clean out of Fredrick's hand. And then I began to run.

Don't ask me why I did that. It was a spur of the moment type thing, I could almost see myself do it, like I wasn't really in my skin. Sorta like when you're about to jump off a high cliff into some water, you don't think too much about it, you just do it. I mean, the guy deserved it. He probably liberated the article from some unsuspecting schmo. Guy's now walking around lidless looking all uncool and such.

When I got far enough away I looked back over my shoulder and there was Hugo taking the drunk fuck down, blocking out like a left tackle. I turned the corner onto North Ave. and made bee-line to Helga's place down on Cargo. 

"What" Helga said.
"Just let me up, I need to talk"
Helga answered with the buzzer and I felt a lot better, safer. I put on the Pork Pie and went up the steps two at a time to the fourth floor. There was Helga holding her apartment door open looking kind of pissed, kind of glad to see me.