“Something is utterly amiss,” said the angry light blue medical bouffant cap. The humanoid paid no mind, for it had none, and continued to illegally harvest organs from a recent plane crash. Someone began to hum, “She’ll Be Comin’ Round The Mountain.” It was not the cap.

Mr. Condor exhaled as he stood up. It was hotter than a raccoon in heat’s cooch, so he dabbed his sweaty brow with a tattered handkerchief; serves him right for buying it at Wal-Mart®. Never again. But that is another story to be told another time.

There was a slight slurp as his suit peeled away from the park bench. It is worth pointing out, there was not a trace of glamour in what had just transpired. He slid his thumb under his suspenders, tugged and grinned.

“Back in my day, it was never this hot.”

The unfortunate man sitting on the end of the bench was now his audience.

“I mean, come on, this is insane.”

His verbal cadence was slow, purposely drawn out, as if there was actually a point.

“You would think that by now, someone would have figured out how to move the sun back a few miles.”

An expression of pure disgust replaced the audience member’s expression of disinterest. He took off running, but not before saying, “Your ignorance is the problem, and sadly, you think it’s the solution. You’re stupid and old.”

Mr. Candor stood dumbstruck, like a hot dog vendor at a vegetarian event, and muttered under his breath, “Chink.”