"Do we have any funds?" he asked.
"Do we have funds. You know, a fund."
"You mean a fund of... money?"
"No." I looked around my barcalounger. "We don't have a fund here."
"I thought so. But I just thought I'd ask. Tad asked me for money to buy a sandwich, but I told him I'm out of money."
"And you thought you'd dip into our library fund for the homeless which doesn't exist?"
"I thought you told him you weren't going to help him anymore."
"I just can't. I can't do it." Reggie shook his head. "My heart is too big. I see a man suffering like that and I have to help out. That's just me."
"You're making him dependent on you, though. Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day, give a man a fishing rod and he'll get struck by lightning. Or something to that effect?" I smiled winsomely.
"I know. I know. Damn. It's just... He's got all these sores on his body. And he won't go to the hospital. I told him to, but he just won't. And he's been sleeping by the river. He won't go to a shelter because he said someone tried to rape him there once. You should see the stuff on his back. Just raw and red. Like a lobster. And some of the sores have pus coming out of them. He keeps itching himself everywhere."
"Yeah, pretty funny, but..."
Reggie looked up at the clock and, with a joyous expression, clapped his hands loudly. "Hey, that's it! My shift is over. I'm gone."
"What about Tad, the homeless guy?"
"I'm done. My shift is over. That means me dealing with Tad is over. Besides, I gotta get home to my girlfriend. Did I tell you how big her nipples are? Sweet, too. Like delicious little boogers."
"Please, Reggie, I'm... What are you doing?"
Reggie was unbuttoning his denim workshirt.
I jumped up, screaming. "I don't want to be your sex slave!"
Reggie ignored me. Smiling lubriciously, he whipped out a cylinder of something and stuck it into... his armpit. But it wasn't the hai karate that he was usually and abundantly slathered in. He explained that he was having some performance issues and his girlfriend had recommended some testosterone juice for his "pits."
"Awww yeah," Reggie said. "I can already feel my girl's tight little pussy in my armpits."
I threw down my copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. "Okay, I think we're done here."
Whistling, Reggie buttoned up again and, whilst leaving the breakroom with an awkward stride that bespoke to the inflated manhood in his jeans, made a circle with his meaty hands. "Nipples this big, man!"
Whatever happened to having a nice conversation about homeless guys and their weeping sores?