He sits in any room. He is about three hundred and fifty pounds. Whether he is muscle or fat is undeterminable. It’s just large. He is just large.
It doesn’t matter where Edward goes. Through the kitchen into the dining room and there is the man. Out the front door, down 2nd street on the number 3 uptown through the projects to the shore. The man is there. He sits and stares at him. His jug-like head protruding from what must be technically called a neck, although there is no actual physical evidence of a neck. His silence fooled Edward into relaxing.
He fell down into the sofa. “King,” Edward said to the large man, exhaling into the cool cushions, “we’re finally able to relax.”
“Shut the fuck up,” said the large man seated by the faux-brick-faux-fireplace.
Edward startled and cringed. The man was real, after all.
“You are a dumb motherfucker aren’t you? Stupid fucking hateful fool with no friends. And nothing to do and worth zero. You must hate being yourself. You must hate everything you do,” said the large man.
Edward was used to The King now. There was a time this butterscotch of a fellow used to made Edward upset. His eyes would tear up. The overhead light Edward would turn off and crawl into bed. He would hug himself.
“You are a tired pig. Look at this room. Towel on the floor?!! What is that? That is pig shit,” the man screamed at little Edward. He sheets and covers were over his head breathing heavy and waiting for the morning. “Everything will be ok, everything will be ok,” Edward cried silently to himself under the safety of the bedding.
But today, as a man, Edward could sing back to the man. He perked up and hooked his thumbs into his jacket’s lapels. “Yooouuuu … are the fucky-fuckity-fucker of the mooooorrrnnnning,” Edward crooned. Edward then relaxed and fell back into the soft cool cushions in waiting room sofa.
“Mr. Peakay? Edward? The doctor will see you now,” said the nurse.