<You asked what my problem is. Ill tell you. Young men like yourself, I see you every day. Here at the store. Over on Golden Boulevard where I attend service. Such a waste. Such a waste of youth and energy and spirit. The Bishop preaches that we the congregation are at fault. We let our children run too far and now they wont come back. Even hearing us older folk talk has become an affront to the young. I dont debate the Bishop on that. But on one point he and I disagree. Ultimate responsibility, young man, lies with you. Not with us.>

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Old mans interrupted my flow. My comeback is weak.

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<You gonna sell me those wet wipes or what?>

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Dick Trickle takes a second celery stick from his plastic bag. Man, I wish he did smoke so I could bum a heater cuz its colding up by the second and my teeth are rattling. But this old skeleton? His crooked ass leg and those skinny ass arms? Not a single bone on him is shaking.

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<Delinquency is nothing new, son. I wasnt any different in my time. Here is my advice on this October evening. Here is my advice to you, which of course you will ignore. You have to get yourself right with the Lord. Thats the only way to take yourself off this crooked path.>

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I go like <What path? You think Im going to acquire me a nice shiny Walgreen nametag one day? Punch the clock for some pimply ass goatee haver? Youre one dense ass robocop. Look at all the great stuff the Lord did for your worshipful ass. Busting poor ass children for taking extra candy? Security cameraing my boy Robbie so he cant buy what he needs to live right? Thats your life? Hell, no. The Lord hasnt done sharkweek for your shriveled up ass so why the hell would he do sharkweek for mine?>

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He goes <You talk like some kind of cartoon. I literally cannot understand your words. Youve gone and invented a language nobody can speak and then you wonder why nobody speaks to you with respect. But I believe we are in agreement. I got right with the Lord after a time but I know plenty of people who have not. I see them every day. Young fellows in wheelchairs. Old men with one lung or bad arteries or cancer of the tongue, smoking away their paychecks.>

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