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Lou: Park Extroadinaire
'It isn't everyday you come across a moose, but when you do, hold on to it. '
'Ordinary people can't have a conversation with themselves, however you are an exception.
Chapter the first.
'When the day is dawning, on a Texas Sunday morning' sadly I don't know a Maria, of that I can recall anyway. This could be a fault of mine; an almighty must of creating the perfect world. Or perhaps not. Maybe it is all down to science and belief being in perfect balance. If I knew I wouldn't have a story to tell. Matter of fact, nobody would.
To begin my tale, it would be rude of me not to introduce myself, the name's Chase, Lou Chase, see it isn't hard to be a secret agent. It would be nice to know your name too, but you can see just how impossible that is. One day some ridiculously clever person will invent a brand of paper which stores MP3 sound tracks and videos, which all you would have to do was touch it with your finger. Although as with everything nowadays, it would come at a price.
Our tale begins with a certain Mr. Price, I say ours what I really mean is mine since you haven't quite heard the story. Isn't it annoying when someone is telling a joke or ironically a story and they completely dart off on a tangent, and the poor person trying their hardest not to scream, is doing just that trying not to scream. I won't keep you any longer if that is what you want to do with your time. Or you could just go ahead and scream, have it over with then you can come right back to the story.
Did you enjoy that lovely shock to the system? I didn't. It was quite shocking to my ears alone, never mind the system. As was Mr. Price's dress sense. One day he would stroll into the park wearing tweed suits looking as if he was heading towards a pretty country manor for a spot of tea and perhaps a spell of fox hunting. The next he looked like Hawaii had thrown up all over him; there really was no telling what his motives were. It could be that he was having a minor protest against people like myself, sitting on a park bench potentially minding their own business, but what Mr. Price was seeing was a strange teenager getting up to some form of mischief. Of course this was not the case, me and mischief? That is only on occasion. Too much mischief wears oneself out. This is another trait of Mr. Price, he would always seem to be intentionally wearing himself out, running laps of the entire park (which was quite a way, uphill and everything) and then stopping, well I say stopping he was still hopping slowly on the spot whilst trying to get his breath back. Surely doing this is defeating the purpose, or maybe I am seeing things completely wrong, like he does with me? Perhaps all this time he is simply attracting squirrels with his interesting dress sense, and one naughty chap has crept up his leg, hence the hopping.
I find it amazing how people can acknowledge each other, know other people's names but never understand them. Much like me and Mr. Price, I honestly find him the strangest man ever; he probably thinks the same in return. Yet neither of us bothers to say anything. What could I say? So, Mr. Price I hear you reckon I am getting up to mischief. I'm not, just so you know and then just walk off back into my own little world? It works for reality TV 'stars'. However it appears I'm not a reality TV star, thank god. The question is, how can you artificially merge two different worlds together? Investigation or research is my only sensible answer.
After about two days sitting on the park bench (going home at around 4 ish) with my music playing gentle jazz music into my ears, Mr. Price was strolling down the path, passing the church on the way. I am amazed that he was only strolling; I am equally amazed that he was wearing a sharp suit, looking dead set ready for a ballroom competition. It was so difficult not to walk up to him and ask him what happened to his usual get-up. Though, how rude would that be? To walk up to your parent's friend and ask about his attire. Personally I think I would be expecting to be involved in some kind of fashion duel. One thing I really don't want to be spending my summer holidays doing is having a fashion duel (what ever that is) with some old wacky bloke. Times like these I wonder about my parents. Well, maybe only Dad, he laughs at the television when there has been a crisis in a third world country, or maybe it isn't quite that drastic, maybe he laughs at someone that has plunged into a ravine whilst attempting to relieve himself. This is slightly amusing. Although this poor guy's family were probably grieving for months over a dead body that could never be retrieved. This is why I worry about Dad. No wonder he hooks up with kooks like Mr. Price, whom I still have to find out the first name for. I still have to keep my fingers crossed when Dad comes home from clothes shopping without Mum, there is no saying that he won't come home with a Hawaiian shirt, or worse some form of animal print. Eek. Mum on the other hand, is quite the opposite. In fact she doesn't really like Mr. Price she thinks he has a 'dodgy air about him', the only reason behind this I can think of is his appalling dress sense and the unanswered reason of why he is always in the park. Fine, it was silly question asking a person what they are doing in a park, since it is a public area, and I am here most of the time. ‘Why am I here most days’ I hear you cry? Well, a boy of my age should really be playing football or going out and about with his school friends, but no not me. Other people my age see me as somewhat different, I'm not entirely sure just why. I don't have any medical conditions, I don't cry out loud, dance too much, or smell (at least I don't think I do). Perhaps I can be a little outspoken sometimes, then a tiny bit confined at other times, but that doesn't give any such person the right to cast me aside. It’s not that I don't try to mingle within, I really do (hopefully not too much...as this could be my trouble, on occasion I have been known to dance the funky chicken- that was just for pure research). People do acknowledge me, but only for a second then they go about their own business. Maybe they're just aliens, and have no idea. This is the conclusion to everything, global warming: aliens, world war: aliens, UFOs: aliens. Everything boils down to aliens eventually; the aliens could double bluff us into thinking that it is really them when it isn't at all. The subject of aliens is an alien subject.
Mr. Price could be an alien, but what self-respecting alien would wear what he wears? Call the fashion police. Could his shiftiness all amount to police involvement? Not until I know just what it is he is doing. Thus investigation is the key; I will continue to sit here on this non-memorial park bench, until an opportunity for conversation crops up. Next the strangest of strange things happened; Mr. Price was jogging on a different path, this time on the journey towards me and my bench. Peculiarly, he wasn't in his usual jogging gear (perhaps it was in the wash?), he was wearing a bright blue Hawaiian shirt with a tiled print of palm trees being the central theme, accompanying his gaudy shirt, were a contrastingly dull pair of brown shorts, and white socks pulled up to his knees with brown mockerson slippers .Was he auditioning to be a Beach Boy? What an oddball. Still you must always expect the unexpected with people these days, no use sticking to a set of rules about your typical person. As Mr. Price was approaching I jumped to conclusions that I was in need of adjusting my facial expression to suit the mood, and not give away to him that he was expected. However it also occurred to me that he may be running straight past me with no intention of talking to me. There is always point in hoping or trying though.
“Boy, what do you do here all day?” a sharp voice pierced me with.
“Um, Hi, I'm here because, I like the view...”
“A view? The grass? The church? Neither move, neither change.” he asked puzzled.
“I know neither move, it’s the weather that changes around that, and since its summer I might as well enjoy it.”
“I see, you haven't happened to have seen anything odd around here have you?”
“Well, yes, you”
He then looked at me like I was a common hoodie, fair enough I was wearing a hooded top, but I wasn't trying to be anti-social, it just got sort of chilly this side of the park. That was the only problem with this bench, its positioning. I could up and fly the coop, and move to another bench. This is a good option however other decent benches were taken. Decent being not covered in graffiti or some other sort of substance, either way it wasn't a plain wooden bench fit for a person like myself. After Mr. Price has stared me out for a good minute, he looked down to my lap, which had my walkman and a notepad and pen with a drawing of a cat on it, then raised his eyebrows and continued down the park towards the gate.
This was my first real interview with Mr. Price; however it wasn't enough to work out what it was exactly that he was doing every single day. Although this was my first time, so in all fairness I think I did all right. As you are reading this I bet you are thinking that he is still just jogging everywhere, trying to get the perfect beach body? My answer to that is, 'Mr. Price is not that sort of man.' Despite his frequent attire of Hawaiian shirts and boarder shorts, he seems too conservative whilst speaking to have the beach as his scene.