Rudy the Sour
 

Rudy the sour-faced derelict rummaged through the left-behind newspaper for want ads.

Not that he wanted a job. 

He just wanted to remind himself of why he had quit his job.

“Work? bah. Who needs it?” 

Rudy sharply mumbled to himself. 

He bristled beneath his tormented coat and sought shelter from the November wind. 

He was once an ad analyst for a Fortune 500 company. 

Rudy’s task was to monitor responses to the company’s endeavors at influencing our society’s tastes and trends. 

 Nowadays the only trend he observed was his desire to have a taste of whiskey. 

And the only influence he had on society was to repulse everyone available.

Rudy decided he did not like people a long time ago. 

“Capitalistic, materialistic lemmings. All of ‘em.” Rudy thought as he carefully examined a roach scaling his tattered trousers.
 
 “Stay away from me with your taste tests and blindfolds and comparison surveys.  I’ll eat, drink and think what I want when I wanna’ think it.” , he said to the roach as he compressed it between his fingers. 

His chapped lips continued to softly stammer in a mantra of rehearsed bitterness as passers by stared at the bum without looking at the man beneath the filth. 

Patty walked faster as Rudy’s eyes locked on her with the tracking of a hungry leopard. 

“Gimme’ some money!” he growled. “Gimme’ some mo-ney!” 

Patty scampered away clenching her purse. 

Her heels clicked on the old brick street of the decaying city. 

She was always in a hurry but never really had anywhere to go.  Work...  Home...  Store...

  She felt like a hamster in a wheel. 

Her hopes of someday meeting a man worthy of her mother’s expectations were slowly fading.

Wrinkles were invading her face and the makeup was not helping much anymore. 

“So many people around me and always so all alone.”, she pondered. 

Where could she meet the perfect man?

Where could she meet any man for that matter. Clubs? 

Been there. 

Churches?  Done that. 

At least her cat would keep her company. 

Patty tripped over the curb and fell to her knees on the unforgiving sidewalk. 

Looking up, she saw her doorman, Michael stooping over to offer some relief. 

“Ya’ dropped yer’ cat chow, Patty.” , Michael said with a grin.  “Lemme’ give ya’ a hand.” 

Patty’s heart raced as he placed his hand covered in a white cotton glove in hers. 

She wanted to kiss him, to kiss anyone.

The cat would suffice. 

“Thank you Michael.  I wasn’t paying attention. There was a man back there who scared me.” , Patty breathed. 

Michael said, “Aw, you mean Rudy?  He’s nothin’.  Don’t let him frighten ya’ none.  I feel sorry for people like that.  Makes ya’ wonder what went wrong.”