Steve puts on the brown dress slacks he's finished ironing and packs some silly straws in his breast pocket, just in case. He checks his watch. The limo should be here in twenty-five minutes, Steve thinks. He decides to wait for it on the steps in front of his apartment building. He checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror before he goes outside.
"You look great," Steve says to himself.
Once outside, he sees three shirtless men drinking beer in the street. One of them is leaning on Steve's 1989 Toyota Camry. If Steve's grandfather were still alive, he would describe these men as "roughnecks."
"So I say to that bitch, you better pack up your shit and get lost by the time I get back from the liquor store," the one leaning on the car says, followed by howls of laughter from all three men. The man's skin is a leathery relic of past sunburns. He has short, curly black hair and has the look of a man who spends most of his leisure time searching for fistfights. The other two men are taller, thinner, and much paler. They have long blonde hair, the taller one wearing his pulled back in a ponytail. They don't say much. "And you better believe that bitch was gone when I come back." He takes a swig of beer and smirks proudly.
"Hey, look," Ponytail says, pointing at Steve.
"Holy shit," Leathery says. "It's Apeman Steve. Yo, apeman. Get down here and have a beer with some other crazy motherfuckers."
Steve feels he has little choice but to comply with the roughneck's wishes. He walks over and introduces himself.
"Man, no introduction is necessary," Leathery says. "I saw you on the news all this week. Have a fuckin' beer, motherfucker."
He tosses a lukewarm can of Schlitz Steve's way. Steve catches it, takes out his silly straw, sticks it in the can, and sips the beer.
"Man, I love that gorilla mask shit," the man says. "I understand. Believe me, I understand."
He stares into Steve's eyes with an intensity that would have made him uncomfortable had he not been wearing a gorilla mask. "It's like you've had it up to here with all the bullshit in the world, man. You just said fuck it. Fuck your boss, fuck your old lady, fuck your parents, fuck the police, fuck a fucking job, fuck the feminists and the draft dodgers, and fuck the man. I like that. I like it a lot."
"Yeah, something like that," Steve says, laughing nervously.
"What you so dressed up for?" he asks.
"Oh," Steve says, blushing under the mask. "The mayor's giving me the key to the city. They're going to send a limo here in about a half-hour."
"No shit," the man says. "It's about time that asshole did something I liked. Fucking Mayor Brannigan, that asshole."
"What do you care," Ponytail says. "You don't even vote."
"Fuck you, Tony," Leathery says. "Give me a reason to and I will."
A lengthy pause ensues, then Leathery speaks again.
"Well, shit, man. We forgot to introduce ourselves. My name's Mustache Tim."
Steve shakes his hand, puzzled at Tim's lack of a mustache.
"Why do they call you that?" Steve asks.
"I won a bet one time," Tim says by way of explanation. Steve decides not to press it.
"These two faggots over here," Tim says, pointing with his thumb at the two blonde men. "You're not going to believe these fuckers' names."
"You're the faggot," Ponytail says. Tim punches him in the arm and mutters under his breath.
"Anyway," he continues. "This goofy-looking bastard with the ponytail is named Tony Bill, and this other goofy-looking bastard is named Bill Tony. I am not shittin' you. God's honest truth."
"That's wild," Steve says. "They're just reversed. Crazy."
"But that's not the craziest thing about their names, dude," Tim says. "It's the second craziest. Guess what's the craziest?"
"I don't know," Steve says.
"C'mon man," Tim says, agitated. "Think. It's real obvious."
"I give up," Steve says. Please don't kill me, he thinks.
"Okay, since you're a hero, I'll let you give up. The crazy fuckin' thing is that both of their names, their first names and last names, are first names. It's like somebody being named John Chuck or Fred Mike. It's fuckin' crazy, dude. It's like, 'Hi, my name's Mr. Tony.' 'Mr. Bill, your appointment is ready.' Crazy shit."
Tim laughs, a desperate wheezy cackle that makes Steve even more uncomfortable.
"So where's this fuckin' key to the city shit goin' down," Tim asks.
"At Dickie Stoolz Park," Steve says. "They've got a little stage set up, and they're going to have some free refreshments afterwards."
"Hell, yeah, dude," Tim says. "We'll come to that. We'll walk right up to the fuckin' mayor after smokin' a joint, and blow the smoke right in his face and say 'That's one in honor of Apeman Steve, bitch.' Then we'll eat some fuckin' refreshments."
"Dude," Tony Bill or Bill Tony says. "We'll bring some refreshments of our own."
The three men laugh hysterically. Steve laughs weakly and resists the urge to check his watch. He finishes the beer and sets it down gently on the sidewalk. A black stretch limousine moves slowly down the street and parks in front of Steve's building. A short, elderly man in a leather cap steps out of the driver's seat and opens the side door.
"Mr. Smithers," the man says. "I'm John Tarkington. I'll be your driver this afternoon. How do you do?"
Steve greets the man and says goodbye to the drunken trio.
"See you later, Apeman Steve," Ponytail says.
"We'll fuckin' be there, man," Tim says. "See you down there."
Steve waves and steps into the luxury automobile, breathing a sigh of relief. Tarkington shuts the doors and drives away. The three men run after the limo, chugging beers while they give chase. The quiet one with no ponytail throws his empty can at the back of the limo, but it stops a few feet short. Steve reclines in his chair and pushes play on the television built into the seat in front of him. A rerun of "Cheers" is being broadcast.
"Oh, Woody," Steve says, smiling. "Will you ever learn?"
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