Cosmic

Recently our old man artiste friend B. stopped by. He has a completely bald, shiny head, and he told me he has been rubbing it lately in hopes that his hair will grow back. "You know old man Gracie?" he asked. "He used to be bald like me. His hair grew back when his daughter started rubbing his head every night." This shocked me, that old man Gracie was once shiny bald like B. because I have only ever known him to have a full head of hair. It also shocked me to hear that old man Gracie's daughter rubbed his head every night, because that's just weird. But I still found myself rubbing Ella's head while B. and I talked. Maybe the mysterious mojo will work on her hair too?

I genuinely like the old man artiste B., and it was pleasant to sit in the yard and drink a beer with him and his bald, shiny head while the sun went down and Ella made a mess out of the birdseed.

B. is creating a fantastically involved book with a story told mostly in wildly intricate drawings of this cosmic universe filled with different creatures, each with very specific jobs in the food production chain. It is so involved that he has a corresponding 30 page glossary. The drawings are ten feet long and five or six feet high. B. promised us that he will draw our dogs into the story as "cosmic super spaceship guards." (Yes, he really talks about things that way.)

When B.'s book hits it big someday, which I am absolutely certain it will, I will be able to say wistfully, "Oh, I knew him back in the day, back when he was still bald."