We are headed to a house fire. We can see the column of smoke from pretty far away, and there are lots and lots of big red trucks with flashing lights and lots of noise.
One of the guys in the heavy coats with the reflective stripes directs me to the front of an engine, where there’s a man sitting on the bumper. He has a prosthetic leg, and a bunch of soot on his face. Quite the interesting combination.
We can clearly see what used to be a mustache on his face, and the curly remnants of his singed eyebrows.
“We already tried to get this guy to go to the hospital, but he just won’t listen to us.” says one of the fire guys.
“Hey, sir, you really need to go to the hospital” says Slimm.
He wasn’t persuasive enough.
Right about that time, someone who looks like they are with the Red Cross walks up to our patient. I guess she is with the Red Cross by the words “American Red Cross” embroidered on her red shirt.
I’m telling you, I should be a detective. I’m good at this stuff.
“Sir, we have a place for you and your wife to stay all set up. Do you want me to call anyone for you? Any family? Friends?”
“Hell naw, I ain’t go nobody to call. And I only need a place for myself.”
“Well, we have a place where both of you can stay.”
“I ain’t stayin nowheres with that lady!”
The Red Cross lady looks confused. “You mean your wife?”
“Hell, she might as well by my EX-WIFE NOW!”
“Bitch burned my HOUSE DOWN!” he yells at no one and everyone at the same time. “I told her ’bout SMOKING ON OXYGEN!” Then he makes eye contact with a distraught appearing woman a little ways down the road.
“We are DONE, LADY! I’m getting’ a DIVORCE!”
Slimm looks at me with obvious discomfiture, then turns to the new bachelor.
“Sir, if you don’t want to go to the hospital, could you sign this computer for us?”