Today I was at Goodwill when an older man came up and struck up a conversation. Indicating the bike helmet I was looking at, he asked, “Do you ride a scooter?”
“No, just a bike. Not a motorcycle or anything, just a regular bike.”
He looked like an innocent man in his fifties or sixties who was lonely for conversation. There were plenty of people around and he didn’t make me feel uncomfortable as our conversation continued.
“I’ve been riding a motorcycle since I was eleven years old,” he said. I told him that was cool. He pulled up the pants leg of his shorts slightly, showing me the twisted, gnarled skin. “I spent four weeks in Harborview when this happened,” he said.
“Ow! Oh my goodness!” I commented, and he- seemingly happy for a captive audience- continued.
“I was riding home one night, and some nice person had lost their dark brown couch in the middle of the freeway. I was lucky enough to hit it, and when I crashed the gasoline spilled on my leg and burned it clear to the bone.”
As I expressed that I was sorry that had happened, he showed me the necklace he was wearing, “See this little plastic blue pig? I wear this because I have six layers of pig flesh on my leg now.”
And then an employee asked me a question, and when I turned back to the man, he was gone.
Strange the things that happen in Goodwill.
I was there looking for a Scrabble board- I reeeally want the Scrabble pieces, so if anyone has a set they don’t want, let me know.
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