Homburg, or "The Crawl, Part III"

I saw some cheeky bastard leaning out a window. That was the first thing that I saw when my eyes adjusted to the light of day. Some cheeky bastard leaning out of the window of a house, holding on to his manly bits and making kissy-faces (just like that kid did several weeks ago – the one I think I told you about). At first I wished that I had a rock or a baseball or a can of some vegetable to throw at him, but then I kind of settled down and realized I didn't need to throw anything at anyone, anymore.

I tried out my legs. They seemed to work all right, if a little weak and shaky. I managed to stand upright and brush the dust and the cavern-lint off my suit. I reached into my breast pocket for another cubeb, which I produced, lit, and put to my lips. Mmmm...so peppery and good. I looked around for the guy that had passed me on the crawl out of the cave – the one who had straightened me out about the whole stalagmite / stalactite thing – but he was nowhere to be seen. The only person around seemed to be the cheeky bastard with his trousers pulled down, now sitting on the edge of the window. I decided I might as well strike up a conversation, so I walked on over.

“Hello, friend,” he called out to me when I was still a distance away. I always hate it when complete strangers say “friend” as a greeting. Almost as much as when they call someone whose name they do not know “guy.”

“Hey there, guy,” I responded. The cheeky bastard winced and squeezed his manly bits simultaneously. He made a face that looked a bit like Tom Hanks. “How'd you do that?” I asked.

“Do what, friend?”

“How'd you make a face just like Tom Hanks?”

“I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about, friend.”

“Never mind,” I said, “but could you please not call me 'friend,'? I had a close associate whose proper name was 'Friend.' Friend Mulcahey was his name, in fact. He was crushed to death in a strange rowing accident. It pains me to hear his name, and I thought perhaps if I ask you nicely you might stop calling me that,” I lied to the cheeky bastard.

The cheeky bastard broke wind and tapped on his manly bits with a little meerschaum hammer. His face twisted into a 'Tom Hanks' again, and he just nodded agreement, without saying a word.

“Thanks, guy,” I said to him, calling him this in an attempt to get a rise out of him (get your mind out of the gutter).

The cheeky bastard just nodded again and pulled up his lips into a duckface. “You're welcome,” he said.

I turned away from the strange man and his window, trying to see if there was a coffee shop nearby. There were lots of private homes, a few of them with similar cheeky bastards leaning out of windows, holding on to their manly bits and making kissy-faces. This didn't bother me so much as did the apparent lack of coffee shops. Perhaps I would have to walk further away from the cave before I found one. Not to worry though, I supposed, as this was just my first time in the light of day in nearly two decades. I would have to find some food, though, as I was tremendously hungry. I was sure there must be a Kosher deli somewhere nearby.

I started to walk toward the rest of my life when I heard the cheeky bastard call out after me.

“Hey,” he shouted, “how'd you know my name?”