The Observations of Patrick Kraker.

Chapter 7

I furrowed my brows as I read Homeless Guy's completely non-informative note for the second time.
I probably looked like a silver version of The Thinker, except very much clothed and a bit more buff.

Seriously. I was sitting on the ledge at 7 a.m, with my chin at my fingertips and a pair of still very furrowed brows. What kind of demented human being is even awake at 7 a.m on a Sunday?
You'd be surprised about how much of a motivator curiosity can be.

People say Curiosity killed the cat. Which cat to be exact? Well, I did almost get run over by a pram on my way here, but that's a story of utter embarrassment for another time. And fortunately for me, I'm not much of a cat either. Even if I was, cats have nine lives. Either that, or my dear fried, Satisfaction,  would bring me back.

***
First off, I'm pretty sure that you're crazy by now. The only reason that I haven't reported you is that I find your idiocy mildly amusing. To answer your first question: I don't believe that it's any of your business. Who says I'm not homeless anyway? To answer your second question: who on earth, or in this case in hell is Satan Lady? And to answer your third question: The manor up the hill is not actually a manor. Where have you been living? It's October!
- a guy who has been falsely accused of not being homeless.

So what if it's October? I was so sick of his cryptic answers.

I hurriedly scrawled my reply and stuffed it in the crack.

I took to my post. After about an hour of watching streams of cars idly, Homeless Dude graced me with his presence. I couldn't really observe his reaction really because at that moment, the perambulator incident lady passed by me with a still wailing baby. I must have really scarred that baby. Still, a story for another day.

Homeless Dude read my note and got that cut- must use manly adjectives Patrick, manly, sorry, deep indent in between his brows.

I am not crazy. Just merely a curious human being who wants an answer so that their curious mind can stop all the curiosity and rest in an incurious peace. Also I am not an idiot! And I don't know why you're being so secretive but it's annoying! Stop.
Also, I'm going to humour you so that you can humour me. You know who Satan Lady is, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
Satan Lady is the one who lives in the manor up the hill. She wears this curious shade of crimson lipstick all the time. Due to this, I have come to believe that she murders people and uses their blood to make her lipstick. She then encases the lifeless bodies of her victims in cement and damns them to stand in her garden for all eternity. Currently though, she is undercover with a supposed "daughter" and "husband", but I really think that they are just her accomplices. Her physical appearance is that of a normal person's, with probably dyed golden hair and fake jewellery.
As for your third question, where I live is none of your business. So what if it's October?
- your curious non-stalker.

***
I missed the beginning of his reaction, but I couldn't miss the end.

He started laughing his head of. Like full on giggling, cackling, and just general sounds as well as shaking. A lot of shaking. Really. He could be in a Shakira music video, he was shaking that much, except it wasn't only his hips, it was his whole body.

I felt like joining in on the fun.
He was shot weird looks by people, who actually got off the pavement to avoid that insane maniac.

Mrs. Phinnegan reappeared, except this time, on my side of the street.

Mr. Weenie waddled along behind her. He stopped right in front of me.

He sniffed around. Did I really smell that much?

He raised one leg. Is he stretching?

My question was answered by a jet of yellow liquid.

Oh god. I mentally face palmed.

Now a normal person would politely look at the owner, but when have I ever been normal?
I didn't say anything because I suffer from socialawkwardititis. It's a horrible condition really. In my defence, what was I supposed to say? Go tell your dog to pee somewhere else? Or you're getting my cleaning bill because there are a bunch of suspicious looking yellow drops of something nasty at the hem of my pants?

I didn't get very many customers. Must be the funny smell and the suspicious puddle smack dab in front of me.

I was sort of put off and irritated after that, so I went home early. His reply would have to wait.

***
I strolled to a position about two metres away from my original one. After yesterday's disaster, I was going to start anew. At 7.30 a.m on a Monday, the street was busy with activity. The morning rush was going on, the pavements crowded and the roads packed. My bucket was brimming with change and a promise for more.

A good day for business. I still hadn't gotten the chance to check out Homeless Dude's reply, I didn't really want to after his reaction yesterday.

Fifteen minutes later, after the waves of people and vehicles had calmed to a constant trickle, I ventured across the road. I swiped the note up swiftly and hurried back. It was almost 8 o'clock.
***
I vowed to myself that I would never use this, but it's the only phrase accurate enough: Oh my god! I had to read your note twice to get the gist of whom you were talking about. It was that lady that fell down last week, right? Her name is Penelope Gahlerry.

Damn it. And here I thought it would be Luciferia or something.

(Ha ha, not really, you psycho. I'm not telling you her name) She's my neighbour and has been for the last 10 years. She's got a husband and a daughter. I was there at the wedding.
Secondly, since I've already told you that I have a neighbour, which implies that I have a house, I'm just going to say that it's none of your business.
And can you be any thicker? It's October!
- a guy slightly worried for your sanity.
P. S What I just said proves that there's no apparent 'cult' if that's all you've got.

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