“Tomalley”

“I’m sorry, we can’t wait that long. We’ve got to get back on the bus.”

Everybody had matching towels

Somebody went under a dock

And there they saw a rock

It wasn’t a rock

It was a rock lobster

It was hot as hell, but they made him wear the damn waders anyhow, even though he never got close to the ocean anymore… not since the accident. He made a pittance acting the role of flinty yankee lobsterman. But tourists expect to see fishermen on the waterfront, even though they wouldn’t be caught dead going anywhere near ramshackle working fish piers which stank of rotting fish guts and diesel fumes. And he needed a job where he could just sit all day, and a lifetime of working boats did little to prepare him for a desk job.Just a few more hours before he could peel off the sweat soaked waders and limp his way home after collecting his pittance from the chamber of commerce. It’d be enough for a cheap pint of crap at the local bar, and to pay off some of his rent. He’d also need to get some fresh sea water on the two real lobsters he waved at the tourists. The tourist center wouldn’t supply those to him, so he had to get them himself. They’d become like pets after a while. He’d named them Ethel and Dobbie, after a pair of singers from long ago. He was worried about Dobbie… she sometimes foamed at the mouth like a mad dog. They weren’t meant to live their lives in a bucket… thrown some fish scraps now and again along with the occasional splash of life-giving water. He wasn’t meant to live like this either, but here he was.”Maybe today,” he thought, “maybe today I’ll set Ethel and Dobbie free. At least someone should have a chance at life again.” He’d have to give up on the beer, though, and buy new lobsters in the morning. 

He sighed. Another bus was pulling up. He idly wondered if it were air-conditioned. The women approach, out came the camera. He stifled a sigh as he fished Dobbie out of the bucket and prepared to give his little show. He hated playing up the accent he’d spent his childhood trying to eliminate, back when he hoped to get out of here… but he had to earn a living somehow. “This heah’s a lobstuh!” he barked out, dying a little inside as he did.

“And where, pray tell, can we, dare I ask it, powder our noses in this godforsaken sinkhole? Do these yokels even know what indoor plumbing is?”

“Oh, Mummy, why did you ever let Dad take the DC-3??

Tagline: Only GREYHOUND will give you crabs