Down the road at 22 kph.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Frank putt-putted down the road at twenty-two kilometres per hour…
It is unclear to this writer how Frank Brubaker survived. It is unknown if there were any amphibians in the Knight St. neighborhood, other than the one in Nibbles’ yard. If there were, they didn’t see the old fellow, and Big Frank sure didn’t see them.
Frank Brubaker putt-putted down the road at about twenty-two kilometres per hour. And with the vicissitudes of fortune being what they are, for some reason only God could know, fate ensured that he made it unscathed to the Quayside Mall where he walked six days a week.
The place was perhaps a tad more deserted than usual this morning, a few bleary-eyed coffee-drinkers in the food court and several other ritual strollers attested to the normality of the day.
Where Bru had gone tearing off to twenty minutes earlier, he had no idea. But over the last few years, with his son living with him, he had sort of gotten used to his moods, and the boy’s occasional, odd disappearance.
To Big Frank, Chuck would always be his boy. He was always home for dinner.
Frank Brubaker wandered around the semi-deserted mall. Most of the retailers didn’t open until nine o’clock, and at this point there were still thirty minutes to go. With his cane and his dark sunglasses, his wool work socks in the brown leather sandals, he looked just what he was. He was an old man with a little weight to lose. Following the doctor’s orders, he was working on strengthening up a bad heart.
The furry, tan-colored fedora, with the green feather in the band, was just icing on the cake to a casual spectator. And of course that home-made navy-blue vest with the fake pearl shirt buttons.
After putting in his laps, which took about an hour, he went to the seniors drop-in centre, endured his cheap cup of coffee for fifty cents and then went home.
After taking off his coat, he put his hat on the kitchen table. He turned on the TV. He sat down with a lurch and a sigh. Big Frank was asleep in four minutes.
Engine clattering like a fucking diesel, when it isn't.
END
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