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of the Lost and Found Working title of a new book by William E Burleson
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CHAPTER 1: BOBBY LEADY Page 1:
“What?” “I said, don’t touch that.” What the... “That quarter! It’s mine.” “Yeah, okay. No problem.” I put the quarter back on the sticky floor right where I found it. It was the three-fifteen show break, and I was supposed to clean up the auditorium. Well, clean is a strong term; I walked around picking up popcorn bags, candy boxes and drink cups littering the floor. I hated it, but since I was the usher and had only been there about three months, I got the job. The bald, grizzly old dude put down his newspaper and pulled his fat butt out of his seat in the back row. “Kid, let me tell you how this works.” He walked up to me, never once taking his eyes off mine. He didn’t even blink. This really freaked me out since he had one severely bloodshot eye and one clouded over with…I don’t know: whatever that shit is in a beggar’s eyes before Jesus gives him back his sight in biblical movies. “This auditorium is mine. Anything you find in this auditorium is mine. Pick up your trash, but if you find so much as a fucking penny, a bus token, a goddamn pack of gum, you better leave it for me. Understand, you skinny, four-eyed, hippy?” He stood way too close for comfort, and I could smell his seemingly lifetime-old stench rising off his dirty plaid shirt and stained with god-knows-what work pants. “Yeah, sure, man, whatever you say. Be cool.” “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” He moved right up in my face, giving me a whiff of liquor. Southern Comfort. “I understand.” I felt like I had to pee. “Good.” He backed off and smiled. Not the smile of friendship or humor, more the smile of a Nazi camp guard. He walked back to his seat, not turning around to look where he was going, but instead keeping his glare on me until he finally sat down. He reopened his newspaper with a snap. Screw the popcorn buckets. Moving as fast as possible, I wheeled my trash barrel out the auditorium door and gave it a mighty shove down the hall making it crash against the wall, almost spilling. I tried not to run back to my usual station at the ticket box near the front of the lobby. I failed. |
Visit www.williamburleson.org for more by and about the author
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