|2020-11-23T16:05||[writing/fragment writing/story age/university]|
Hi, I’m Jeremy Richman– no, I don’t like the name, especially when avid theatre goers like to do their impersonation of Zero Mostel from Fiddler on the Roof when they learn it. No, really, it happened once. The guy wasn’t nearly as big as Zero, but, he was grey haired, and was, in fact, wearing a tweed jacket. That was the first thing that put me off about him, that tweed jacket. I mean, who even wears those? English professors with tenure? Someone who’s too poor to shop for new clothes, or at least, doesn’t want to? So, anyhow, this guy, we’re all standing in the street, it’s cold out, I’m wearing my Army of Darkness hoodie, and my girlfriend at the time, Stacie Monhardt, well, she was… anyway, we just came from a bar, Joey’s, and this guy with a tweed jacket comes out with another guy and they start singing. Now, this fellow with tweed-man, he’s wearing a nondescript windblazer thing, wearing glasses, and a little less drunk. The song they were singing was “Wish You Were Here”, and I don’t think that those guys were really big fans of Pink Floyd, I just think that they were singing along with the radio that was on inside. Maybe a father-son duo, I’m never to be sure. Anyway, so I’m standing at the bus stop holding hands with Stacie but off in my own little world, tweed-man bumps into me!
“I’m so sorry, my good man.. I’m just a bit drunk, you see.”
“No, really, I’ve acted out of turn, I’m Adams, by the by.”
“And I’m Jeremy Richman.”
“Richman…Rich Man, by golly that play was on last night…”
The tweed-man suddenly started on a dance that I hope never to see again. There he was, off sync with his own performance, and he’s nearly fell over while swinging his arms, and now he’s spinning too much, and ugh! He threw up all over me! It smelt of beer, salad, and more beer, plus some other little nasty bits that Stacie found later when she was soaking it that I don’t even want to try to understand.