“Hey,” he said, as I walked by, weighed down by shopping bags, “I’m a very rich man.” That was the first story Mike ever told me. Since that encounter over two years ago, I’ve gotten many glimpses into Mike’s world of government spies, messages from God, plots to keep him from his Canadian supermodel fiancé, and the impending Armageddon. Tip: the world is going to end before the end of 2004, so don’t worry too much about your Christmas shopping.
I’ve typed and deleted countless Mike tales for Good Grief! I’ve got a million of ’em because I see Mike often–on the Parkway, in Logan Square, at the library, and even one time out on the Main Line, in front of the Peace a Pizza (God had given him a coupon for a free slice). His stories, though funny, are products of a mental illness, not fodder for a weblog.
So why mention Mike at all? Because he makes me think, and for better or for worse, he’s one of the cast of characters. Besides, he’ll never read this post. John Ashcroft (who died six months ago and was replaced by a government double) doesn’t let Mike get on the Internet.