Inside The Mind Of Reggie

Reggie grimaced as he sauntered into the staff lounge (the pianist was taking a break).

"Whew," he said.

He's been doing that a lot lately. Every time he walks in from the outside he goes "Whew," apparently to make sure we understand how hard his (black) lot in life is.

"Hot out there?"

"Whew. No, actually..." He leaned in close. "Sex. Last night. Had a lot of it."

"Why can't it just be the weather with you?"

"Tried a new position. It was off the chain, too." He arched his back. "But now I'll need a day to recover. Heh heh."

"Mm."

On the break room table was a copy of the Dewey's Dispatch, with the glorious full-color photo of me and The Shelver Who Is Not To Be Named. To get off the topic of Reggie spraining his back from tantric fucking, I mentioned how disappointed I was that no one had noticed my little joke in the left hand corner of the mural.

(See, it's on the kitten's backpack, that grainy microscopic worm with the glasses who... aw screw it.)

"What joke?" Reggie said, massaging his sex(y) injury.

"I drew a little earthworm reading Ulysses. I wanted to let kids know that reading James Joyce for the summer is totally radical. RADICAL." *bendy guitar note*

"Uh-huh. Hey, can you loan me four dollars for cigarettes?"

After he left with my last dollars, I took out a piece of paper and drew a cross-section of Reggie's brain and a list of the things floating in his head during the day, all tabbed by percentages for easy filing.

78 %  PUSSY PUSSY PUSSY

3%  Jesus Christ of Nazareth

10%  "Hate whitey because he make the black man clean dem toilets"

22%  Threesome tonight?

14%  Get free hot dog from vendor across street, eat it

5%  And get a Mountain Dew too

17%  Chips?

13%  Borrow money from Greg for cigarettes

13%  Smoke a cigarette

54%  Whew

12%  Joke around, laugh at things not funny

.0000000000000001%  Work

You might object that these numbers don't add up to 100. And I would agree with you.

Next Week: Reggie Hires A Lawyer