When the old clerk still worked here, there used to be this guy who’d hang out with him and his friends in front of the store. He was an older man, middle-aged, whose speech was slightly labored like he was always drunk or high, or something.
And he would tell stories. Filthy stories. Horrible, dirty stories, that I feel the need to censor because they were also pretty damn sexist.
All the stories were about sexual encounters. Very one-sided sexual encounters, where the women don’t sound like they were enjoying themselves too much. He had a thing for euphemisms for the vagina. His favorite was, “the all-seeing eye.”
Not much later, I found the ex-clerk and his friends stapling flyers to the poles that hold up the eaves outside the store, laughing as they did so. Apparently, this man and his dirty stories and euphemisms and misogynistic attitude toward women, he was a registered sex-offender. And the ex-clerk found him on the sex-offender website. His mug-shot somewhat resembled Homer Simpson’s yearbook picture, with his eyes half-closed and his mouth cracked open, stubble around the lips. “Ah, the memories!” The man had two counts of forced penetration.
I’ve never seen him since.
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