"Are you okay?" asks the curious co-worker, as I stagger in, late, with a belated look of incredulity, "You look like shit."
Standardized white t-shirt stained in all places, I am sweating buckets in the stale heat, headed to the refrigerator aisle or the freezer in the back for a quiet place to reassess the situation and to get my head on straight. Limping, with blood in my eyes, "Fuck off." I drag my body across the glossy floor, spreading dirt and blood about the neatly arranged aisles as regular customers gasp in horrified voices. Dropping glass bottles off of shelves and pointing at my torn up body, the terrible gashes on the most fleshy parts of my body, all in lines of three or four. Claws, sometimes the thumb too. A bear? A sabretooth from the ancient hills? Worse? Imaginations ran amok and I smiled at the thought of the idiotic concern about my well being. I was attacked. I was in a car accident. I was attacked by a car. They desired, for a reason I feel I'll never understand, to run me off of the road by violent means. I came to consciousness near the dumpster out back. They carved 'vengeance' into the calf of my right leg, thankfully, in this case, prosthetic. No other case would I be thankful for that other unfortunate attack to my health. I am often mistaken as someone else and nearly murdered for what awful things they've done. My god, this time, after they explained why I was brought to the edge of death after all of my pleas of the innocent, sounding like pleas of the guilty, I gave up trying... I nearly felt like I deserved this beating, this dragging off from the woods, the blood in my eyes and the sleeves of my shirt. It is so damn hot. Apparently, this guy, Mikey, ran off with a gang members sister and beat her ass up... I am his doppelganger. So they beat me up. "Touch her again," they said, "and you're fucking dead, Mik." So I really hope this fucking Mikey does nothing again to hurt her. She is too stupid to realize I am not him apparently, having spotted me pushing carts outside the store...
The unreasonable people in a man's life as he tries to exist simply, trying to figure it all out. He constantly is mistaken for someone else.
Call me a general white man. The stereotypical bone structure and all similar attributes. Hitler's golden-blonde army. I am not hateful. I am quiet. I wish to exist in semi-privacy with a beautiful women, intelligent, worth speaking to. My standards of intelligence in a women are extremely high. Beauty standards, much, much less as I do not have the physical self-esteem necessary to follow me where my appetite wants to go. Mikey probably goes to those dark places. Same with the Sven. The drug lord's son. Later I was held captive and beaten for answers I didn't have. I made up answers and names and some of the pieces clicked. Apparently caught in the middle of some gangland drug war where all classic cars are brought brand new off of show rooms. They all want to kill someone who looks me but isn't me. I begin to believe that I have an evil twin brother who set out to ruin my life because my parents cast him out into adoption and a life of crime. He is someone I've never known to exist.
