A Pun Too Far

Bad Guys Need Flowers - Pt. 17
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“Young man, I know this picture is of you. Look, you’re wearing the same goggles on your head. Do you like to swim?” The old lady was making her case in the calmest, sweetest manner possible. For whatever reason, Rog was not responding in kind.

Rog: “I know it’s me, but I’m hungry; I need food; and I have money to pay for it.”

Old Lady (aka Geraldine): “I was a lifeguard one summer, you know. I could do all the strokes. Let’s see… There’s the front stroke… the back stroke… the left stroke…”

Rog: “This is the food I want.” He slammed down a sandwich and chips. “This is my money.” He slammed down a credit card. “Please swipe it now.”

Geraldine (holding up the aforementioned picture): “I can’t help you, young man. The police gentlemen gave me this picture of you and told me not to give you anything.”

Rog: “You’re not giving me anything! We are making a fair exchange. This food, for the amount of money its worth.”

Geraldine: “Oh, no, no, no. How do I know this credit card isn’t a trick? I heard on the news that young people like to take advantage of old people, especially with credit cards. Those can even be used to break into buildings!”

Rog: “But you know that this card is mine! The name matches the one on that cop photo you have.”

Geraldine: “I didn’t steal it. The police gentlemen gave it to me, and I happen to know that police do not like it when people steal.”

Rog: “What are you talking about?!”

Geraldine: “You said that I copped this photograph. I did no such thing. Why would I steal a picture of you? We just met.”

Rog, like the unseen audience, was baffled and distraught.

Geraldine started to look at the picture again, reaching up to adjust her glasses… which weren’t there. “Oh ho! I almost forgot about my cataract surgery. I’m always doing that, trying to touch things that aren’t even there anymore. I suppose it’s a matter of habit. You’ll come to understand yourself in a matter of years, young man.”

Rog: “No, I won’t, because I won’t live that long, because nobody in this damn town is giving me any food.”

Geraldine: “Your goggles are almost like glasses, aren’t they? They make those, don’t they? Goggle-glasses?”

Whatever Rog had done to get himself on the police radar was about to get a lot worse. He was about to hit the kindest, oldest, and most stereotypical person in town. Cal, who had been watching long enough to grasp the situation but not long enough that his “idly standing by” act would seem weird, was ready to step in. His cold, hard (in a papery sense) cash seemed the perfect solution to this new age problem of metaphysical property and identity confusion.

The more-pointed feet of Midnight stepped in first.