The Bald man

Jimmy ‘Gums’ was well known for his oral deficiencies. Most assumed it was the result of his drug use, or merely the fact that the man had not seen a toothbrush in decades. The truth was that he was a drunk idiot who opened beer bottles with his teeth. Regardless of the challenges he faced in getting at the sweet nectar of the hops and barley, he got at it in sufficient quantity to get himself black out drunk most nights.

One particular night he found himself roused from his stupor lying slant wise with his neck kinked severely as he used a cleat hitch on the dock as a pillow. Swatting away a particularly nasty bug he glanced down towards the water and so was the only witness to not the arrival of the bald man.

As the bald man ascended the ladder to the dock he shimmered in the moonlight, and somehow was too dry to leave wet footprints as he walked away.

Observing Jimmy as he stepped over the wino he said nothing. He headed to the center of town, and by the time the sun had risen he was seated at a cafe waiting for the staff to fire up the roasters and make the first pots of coffee. He dearly loved the pungent brew. There was no such beverage in the halls of Atlantis he called home. As he sipped his first cup in a decade he pondered the objective of his visit.

Each decade he returned to the surface, and visited the descendants of the human race his people had turned their backs on so long ago. He’d observe and judge. His quandary was singular. Was it the right time to reconnect the two races? It was a simple question but it was damnably hard to answer, and he was cautious by nature, preferring to delay instead of risk all that had been preserved.

Although Jimmy had been the first person the bald man saw, many others caught his attention. The next was ‘The Cardinal’, a man who walked the streets with sandwich boards bearing photos and news print that all backed the assertion that the political leaders of the day were in fact either reptilians in human skin suits, or robotic replacements for human politicians who refused to play ball. The bald man never did figure out how the man had gotten his nick name.

‘The Cat Lady’ and ‘Big Beau’ weren’t half so mysterious. Their monikers fairly easy to explain.

As he was finishing his twelfth cup of coffee his thoughts were interrupted by a young boy who sat down at his table.

“Hello. Can I help you?” Although his English was good, he knew his accent was rather thick, and some people seemed to have trouble understanding him.

The kid leaned forward and inspected his face. “You got the cancer?”

“No, why do you ask?”

“No hair, not even eyebrows. Does the coffee help with the cancer pains?” As the kid asked he reached into his pocket and pulled out a marble. He set it on the table and rolled it back and forth with one finger in a fashion the man found to be a moderately impressive display of dexterity.

“I told you I don’t have cancer.” He insisted while following the marbles bouncing path as it was steered in a zigzag by the boys finger.

Snapping up the marble the boy pushed away the chair and stood. “The same, I think you should see a clinic, you look pale and such.” Then he ran off disappearing into the crowd.

It wasn’t until the man tried to order another cup of coffee that he realized his pockets had been emptied. The boy it seemed has been about distracting him while a partner pilfered him. The bald man considered what had been in his pockets. Precious gems and pearls likely worth a great deal to the thieves, as well as a few hundred dollars worth of cash the man had scavenged from lost wallets and drowned bodies.

He reflected on what he had seen so far, and considered his choice. No, it was not time, air breathers sucked.