One January Morning, Part 25
They stare at each other, Morgan the Pirate and Morgan the Schmuck, and they have no further words. It is not until the pirate turns to me to speak that anyone says anything at all.
“Why?” is the question she asks as she slams a fist down on my desk, my coffee mug of pens tipping and scattering across the desk calendar left behind by the big guy Himself. It’s of Garfield, the cartoon cat. Not my thing, but I didn’t dare move it.
I smile and gesture at the schmuck. “Ask him,” I say. “He may have forgotten who he is, but I assure you both that he is the one with all the answers.”
He scoffs. “I was just picking up girls and playing some Skee-Ball when all this started,” he says.
It is on the word Skee-Ball, however, that something finally clicks. His eyes widen, his lower lip droops, and he mumbles, “Holy shit.”
To be continued…