All that man ever did was read the paper.
For some reason we felt it necessary to insult him every time we walked through what we called Apprentice Park.
I don't know why we called him names. I guess we just thought he was the crazy old guy and it didn't bother him.
We walked down there about twice a week. In between or after our classes in the city. The park was at the end of Market Street and if you looked over the railing you saw 16th street right under you and across 16th was the Brandywine Creek.
One day I wandered down to Apprentice Park by myself and I saw the old man sitting on his usual bench reading the paper. I sat down next to him and I said, "listen, I just wanted to apologize for yelling at you all those times. It was stupid and immature, you deserve more respect than that. I'm sorry."
He looked at me and said, "you're apology doesn't hold its weight in water."
So I said back, "walk to the creek with me."
For some reason he did. He followed me down to the water's edge. I started walking into the water. Luckily for me, there was a spot ten feet deep just to my right. We were completely underwater now. We had become dense enough to stay at the bottom.
I said to him, "does it hold its weight in water now?"
He didn't say anything to me. He pulled out a lighter, set the paper on fire, and disappeared.
Shout-outs to the coolest vegetable.
- Your third favorite story teller, William Wallace