“Have you ever met someone, Wolf, and it just clicked? Friends forever?”
“Most people take awhile to warm up to me, Minnie. For some reason, they don’t know if I am an escapee from the nut house or a harmless bar fly.”
“You escaped from the nut house? I thought you were released.”
“SHhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Not too many people know about that, Minnie. If you recall, I admitted myself. It was 1983. A lovely, sunny day, in Omaha, Nebraska. There I was, at work, not able to concentrate on anything. I knew I has lost what little was left of my mind, so I called for a Doctor appointment. Now, I had been to this neurologist before, and we did not hit it off. He told me I was a lunatic, delusional, and a general train wreck. So I really don’t know why I called him again. However, he was off that day, and another doctor saw me. Luckily, this one accepted my lunacy as a symptom of craziness, and asked me if I would like to go “in” for a rest.”
“In? In what?”
“The nut house. And there I remained until they kicked me out, 36 days later, screaming and kicking.”
“You mean you weren’t cured?”
“No. I didn’t want to leave. I grew quite fond of my cuckoo’s nest buddies. They were the only people who readily accepted me on sight, as normal.”
“You left the crazy world, to change your life into a bar fly?”
“Exactly. Once again, the flies at the bar accept me for who or what I am. We have grown quite close to one another. At closing time, we all leave screaming and kicking.”
“Seems like a pattern is emerging, here, Wolf. Do you really think this is normal behavior? And do you keep in touch with these people? For life?”
“Hell, no, Minnie. I don’t even know their names.”
Wolf