Trevor

Trevor came into the store. He’s the guy that was trying to sell us his old Life Magazines. We didn’t take any but we did hang up one of his sloppy paintings for a couple weeks.

We shook hands and I noted the size of his: very tiny and weird.

“Hey, you got my painting? The peace and love one?”

“I think so. We should have it in the back.” Yeah. It was there. On the front was a field and a sunset and a factory. On the reverse he had written “Peace and Love” along with some Chinese characters. I wiped the mouse shit off of it before I handed it over.

“That’s the one.” He walked over to one of our clothing racks and picked out a jean jacket. “It’s about that time.” He forked over his painting and tried the jacket on. “Yeah. It’s a little snug in the shoulders but the arms are great! I bet the women would just love this. They’d try to steal it off me.” He looked at the price tag and said, “$40, eh? Well. Maybe I’ll come back next week for it.”

I hung it up and he said, “Whoa! No! Don’t put it right there. Someone will take it.” He moved it closer to the end of the rack. “Yeah, that’s a nice one. Bet I could get a girl in that. The ladies like to take my jean jackets.”

“So, how’ve you been doing?” I asked. “Did you ever sell your comics and stuff?”

“Well you know that black guy I brought in here last time?”

I didn’t but said I did. I don’t think Trevor can tell the difference between Nick, Cole or I, even though we look nothing alike.

“So that fuckin’ guy, he’s been tearing up the neighbourhood, terrorizing and beatin’ up everybody. So I’ve been trying to get rid of him. I told him, ‘Why don’t you go back to Toronto or wherever the fuck you’re from. This is Edmonton. Nobody acts like that here. Thuggin’ and buggin’ everyone.”

“Huh. Good for you.”

“Yeah, so I’ve been busy dealing with that fucking guy!” He was yelling at this point, spitting all over himself. “But anyway, I’m going to bring you guys some of those magazines. You can have some of the ripped up ones and do with those what you want. Maybe sell them for a couple bucks.”

“Sure, Sure. Ok. Well thanks, Trevor. And here. If you want me to hold the jean jacket for you, we can put it aside.”

“Oh that’d be great,” he said as I took it from the rack and put it behind the counter. “Ok. Bye,” he said walking off with his painting.

Once he left, I put the jean jacket back on the rack.