Mitzi found the young man with energy an enigma: here he was in the middle of this horrible world with so much enthusiasm and vigor. His smile was constant showing a perfect smile in spite of the situation. There was something amiss in the man, though. He was too keen.
“You are in search of the greatest man I have ever known,” said the quilted man, “He has shown me the way to lead my life. Watch your step…” He hopped effortlessly over a large part of what seemed to be the remainder of a sidewalk, propped on an obtuse angle from the decaying sewer seemed below. The whole train followed behind. “We once spent a night encamped together under a large building which used to be a bank. It was a wretched night – we were backed up two against what musta been a hundred homeless men. Katz did somethin’ to piss ‘em off. Anyways, we were fending them off, and our senses were high – you know? – and I saw the man himself (Katz, that its) come right out of his shell. He had his AR-15 with him and that’s it, and I was lovin’ on this beautiful Desert Eagle Fifty-cal. We must of killed at least twelve of them, and it seemed like they retreate, but, you know, one can never be too sure, so we bunked out in the broken-down bank for the night. He enlarged this very organ that night,” he pointed to his temple and continued, “He told me of love, and death, and especially about business. ‘A man is nothing with out his business. You go to a dinner party, and what is the first thing someone asks you?’”
Mitzi found it ridiculous for someone to be talking about a dinner party is such an atrocious situation, but managed to answer nevertheless, “I dunno. What?”
“Well, they ask you, ‘what do you do?’ In other words, what is your business? How do you make money? I always tell them I’m a young man traveling the United States for some good, wholesome experience. I aim to travel the world when I get out of here. After he enlightened me I felt like I could do anything I wanted. But he went down so quickly with his affliction for weed. He doesn’t smoke it, you know? He just… collects it. He aims to sell it on his own when he gets back to the real world. Anyways, we got outta that bank as fast as we could the next morning, tripping over all of those dead bodies and stuff. My father, a priest for the Russian-Orthodox church in Memphis where I grew up, always told me that a man needs a proper burial, no matter how far from pious he is. But I wasn’t exactly listening to a man a thousand miles away at that moment, if you know what I mean. We just got our hides outta that situation and made a run back to this post; it was silly of us to try to even make a raid into the heart of District 11. I think of that man a lot out here… but anyways, back to the story: we went our separate ways after that. He went to his hub, I went to mine (which is were we met).
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