The Second Hand Man

I have not seen Freddy Harris since my first day at school. There has been talk that he has suffered serious brain trauma from some poison that he inadvertently ingested, and was now in some special institution learning how to feed himself again. Nobody knew when or how this had happened.

I know, of course!

The special pastrami sandwiches that my mother had lovingly made for me to mark the occasion of my first day at school had somehow become tainted with rat poison from my father’s workshop. Thank goodness Freddy had chosen to relieve me of the toxic fare. I guess he must have been wondering why I was smiling the whole 30 seconds it took him to scoff it all down. He had eaten it up so fast that he didn’t even taste that there was something odd about the stolen lunch.

Strange, it would be natural for me to be feeling some form of regret, but I don’t.

Instead, I feel like a warrior that has won a great battle.

This is almost the same feeling I had when I discovered that Freddy was an employee at Vizion Global in my previous life.

He didn’t even recognize me as he went about his job of cleaning the floors and emptying the waste paper bins. He had never been very bright.

I guess I won’t be seeing him at Vizion Global this time around. After all, now he can’t even wipe his own arse properly.