A man talked to himself at the social security office. Hair tangled; skinny. Cursing up a storm. Yelling about not having an ID. No social security card. No mail. Nothing. He held up a note from his mother declaring who he was. She even signed it. Said under penalty of perjury I state that this is my son and his name is Joel. The letter went on to give an address and a phone number. The woman behind the glass wasn’t buying it.
What do you want from me? Huh? he asked. You think you’re a big shot don’t you? Sit back there and make peoples lives hell. I’ll show you, he said. I’ll show you. And before the security gaurd came over he was marching out the door past shocked and disgruntled senior citizens. Yelling at the top of his lungs, I’ll be back. I’ll be back.
He paced outside the building. Mumbling to himself. Talking into his hand. An imaginary cellphone. Yeah I’m here, he said. Cocksuckers. They don’t know who their fucking with. Son of a bitch. Is this the way you run a country? he yelled. Is this the way you run a country?
He continued talking to himself on the city bus. Ranting and raving. Foaming at the mouth. Kept running his hands through his thin gray hair. Snorting and coughing.
Let me off here, he said to the driver. Let me off here. I’ve had enough for one day. I’ve had enough.