Sad sauce about Darren moving out. With his musical instruments and gladsome vibe he really brightened up the place. I'll tell you more about him in another entry though. Today I want to tell you about his replacement, Shirtless Guy. For three months I didn't even know what his real name was, that's how highly I regard him. By the time I actually learned it, it was too late. He will forever be known as "Shirtless Guy". Like Larry, it's hard to tell exactly how old Shirtless Guy is. He could be 40 or 60. Life has whittled his face into a withered white potato and even his eyes seem colorless. Allegedly, Shirtless Guy works in a law office downtown. He keeps strange hours, and that's all we really know.
You might suspect the nickname is an obvious one, and you'd be right. It was an evening in September and I was in the kitchen making toast, missing the sounds of Darren's harp. In saunters the new guy, wearing nothing but boxers. I avoid eye contact. He pauses next to me, tilts his torso forward slightly, and rakes his right arm back and forth across his chest. This whole time I'm not looking at all, but I can hear what sounds like an orangutan scratching. He speaks:
"Um, do you know if there's any toilet paper stashed anywhere?"
And you sir, shall henceforth be known as Shirtless Guy.
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