Is he crazy – or simply practicing a 21st Century ritual?
Br’er Juan safely parked his antique Mercedes in the far regions of the lot and strolled towards Target. He spotted the trouble while still many yards away. The red haired man was near the store’s front door, flapping his arms and speaking loudly. His conversation mate was invisible. The man’s face was flushed as red as his hair – he’s perspiring. His belly rolled over his trousers, and his flapping arms pulled out his shirt-tail. Br’er Juan slowed and watched. He expected people to either avoid the man or taunt him. Br’er Juan remembered the SpyMaster. Way back in the dark ages of high school, there were still a few retail stores downtown. Br’er Juan and his buddies would detour through town on their way home from school They’d park somewhere near the intersection of Cherry Street and Third Street and begin to look for the SpyMaster. They’d usually find him tucked into the entranceway of an old hotel. Br’er Juan and his buddies thought the SpyMaster was ancient – he was probably about
