The Accidental Artist

Clarence was dropped off by the police after waved them down around 4 AM. It was a holiday adn Clarence was alone. I asked him where he lived and he told me that his friends spotted him everywhere as he rattled off the names of local municipalities. “How much beer did you have clarence?”

“Just a little…two 24 ouncers.”

“OK, and how much wine before that???”

He stood next to his bed with his feet wide apart, wrapped all his figners around the collars of his 3 tshirts and struggled to get them off over his head. as soon as his eyes were covered, he would start to stagger, let go of the shirts and grab the bed rail, forcing him to start all over. I finally just asked him to have a seat on the side of the bed.

We talked for awhile. I commented on his seashell necklace.

“I made it,” he said. “I’m an accidental artist,” as his voice trailed off and his eyes drifed shut.

As I was getting ready to leave the room, he asked me what my name was. I told him my real first name. His eyes widened and he said to me, “Shazam!”

And as our unit clerk would say in a thick Picksburgh drawl… “That’s the honesttogods truth!”

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