Upon arriving from the airport, I received a phone call from my friend Dustin, who sounded quite distressed. He begged me to meet him down at the Golden Café in half an hour’s time.
When I finally got there, I found him shaking and stirring by a secluded table, in front of a cup of Mocha. Without raising his eyes from his cup, he put forward various stillborn attempts at small talk. We needed to “catch up.” His words, not mine.
Annoyed by his manner, I asked him straightforward about the urgent reason for the meeting.
- Look right behind me, can’t you see him?
- All I can see behind you is just a bunch of empty tables and a lousy wanna-be torch singer.
- Well, that’s the whole thing, you see?
He went on to explain how he had got to meet Sasquatch, the fabled creature. First, he would see him standing tall behind the shower curtain, then behind the registers at the market, till one day he saw him outside the corner of his eye in an elevator and casually addressed him. They started chit-chatting, and now Dustin could not get rid of him.
He noticed the hint of disbelief in my eyes.
- Just like everyone else! You don’t believe a word I said, do you?
- Well, Dustin, it’s hard to swallow that you are the only person that can see a mythical Canadian creature this far South of the border…
- I knew it. He was right. Christ, He is always right! He told me not to tell anyone. No one is ready to understand!