Final story for the day

The Mad Hatter.

His name was Nick. He lived with his mother and crazy wife in a house right by the Orange Street bridge (he's not there anymore). He was a fixture of the place. He wore different hats with accessories depending on some internal calendar. One day he was a smelly explorer, with pith helmet and matching khakis. The next he had his top hat on and his stick.

He would go to the Top Hat and shoot imaginary arrows at people until he annoyed one of the surlier drunks and got beaten. He would wander around the streets at closing time and sing to people staggering home.

One day, I was working in a jewelry store downtown and he came in. He was in explorer mode, and very ripe smelling. He had a stack of photos that he wanted to sell. He said that they were worth millions. Each picture was a random shot of something on the street. He said that he had captured time in each one, and that they would never be repeated. He had a point.

He also told me about the painting he had done. It was in the window of the leather shop a couple of doors down. He was disgruntled by the lack of security. It was worth $100 million dollars, and belonged in the Smithsonian. But he wanted to share. It was of swirling waves and a pirate ship.

He painted a mural on the side of the bridge by his house. He landscaped a seaside scene in front of the mural of the ocean. It was creepy and lovely at the same time. It was totally daft.

His life was sad. He had been in the hospital at Warm Springs. That's where he met the wife. His mother received disability checks for all of them, and that's how they lived. She came into the store and returned a ring he had purchased for the wife once. They didn't have enough for heat in the winter, and she was ashamed.

I have no idea where he is anymore. I kind of hope that he lives near the ocean.