S & M Santa
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The Art of the Oil Change

THIS IS THE TRUTHFUL ACCOUNT of a conversation, which took place yesterday evening while enjoying a quiet moment of relaxation and introspection, sitting on a bench down by the beach.

Lou (An elderly, seemingly friendly, yet oddly odd looking chap, somewhat akin in general appearance, stature, and smell, to what might be described as an S&M Santa Claus) approaches the bench.

"Hi,” Lou says. “Do you mind?"

A stumpy finger in dire need of a manicure, or, at the very least, some serious excavating under its yellowish finger nail, points at the empty area on the bench.

Me: "Nah, man, it's a public bench."

With a profound exhale Lou chooses to plop himself down RIGHT NEXT to me, leaving the rest of the unoccupied bench just so. Breathing heavily through his nose, he awkwardly unravels the three shoulder-strap bags dangling in chaotic asymmetry off his Father Christmas-like frame; with effort he heaves each bag carefully over his profound white mane, his fuzzy beard bristling gleefully. This should have been a warning sign! In retrospect, it would seem the ocean’s gentle waves peacefully lapping against the shore, the warm summer breeze, the overall serenity of the moment, may have put my mind at ease, just a little too much.

Lou: “My name is Lou."

Me: "'Sup, Lou!"

A moment's pause. Lou breathes in. Lou breathes out.

Lou: "You got a wife?"

Me: "Ex."

Lou: "Hm..."

Lou breathes in. Lou breathes out.

Lou: "I'm lonely."

I breathe in. I breathe out.

Me: "I hear that."

Lou (leaning in close toward me; the odor of moldy caramel and burnt socks giving my olfactory system a run for its money): "So...” he says, “When's the last time you had an oil-change?"

Me: @.@!!!

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