friday's mirage
So the Fonz went walking in the desert and got lost for several days. Although the sun beat down on his back he kept staggering on, because he knew he was cool, and the sun knew he was cool, and eventually he would find where he was going.
He kept seeing mirages, shining Harleys waiting in the distance. If he could just get to them he could come riding out of the desert into town and all his friends would see him and think 'Cool!' and he'd look cool and the world would know how cool he was.
Eventually he came across an old guy dressed up in white with a little white baseball cap. The guy was standing next to one of those mobile chiller cabinets that street sellers keep ice cream in. The Fonz looked down at himself and realised that his leather jacket was
covered in sand.
"Shit," he thought, and brushed himself down. He smoothed back his hair. Tiny grains of sand had become stuck in his hair gel, but there was nothing he could do about that. He walked over to the guy in white, regaining some of the usual swagger in his step.
"So, like, what are you selling?" he asked.
"Water," the guy replied. "Fresh water. Only three dollars a bottle."
The Fonz felt in his pockets. Somewhere in the desert he'd lost his money.
"Hey, guy" he said to the guy, "I've lost my wallet, but I really need some water, y'know? Will you gimme some on, like, credit?"
"No way," the guy looked the Fonz up and down, "but I'll trade you a bottle for that leather jacket."
The Fonz looked down at his leather jacket. He'd had it for a very long time, it felt like part of him, even though it was heavy and the desert sun made it hot to the touch.
"That's not a very good deal," said the Fonz.
"I can wait," the water seller replied as he absentmindedly fiddled with the small parasol mounted on his cart, trying to get the maximum amount of shade from the parching sun.
Eventually the Fonz couldn't take it any more. His mouth was dry, his hair was full of dust and his cool was more than slightly ruffled.
"Okay, okay, you can have the jacket, just give me some water."
"Sorry," the water seller replied. "That was then, this is now. If you want some water now you'll have to throw in your shades as well."
"Jesus Christ!" shouted the Fonz, kicking the rock in rage and hurting his foot. "I don't believe this! There's no way you're getting my shades as well". The Fonz sat down and fumed. The little water seller just kept on fiddling with the parasol, his face impassive.
Finally the Fonz could take it no more. His vision was starting to blur and he felt weak. Slowly and carefully he got to his feet.
"Alright, I give in. You can have my jacket and my shades. Just give me some water, I'm dying here."
The little guy spread his fingers, inspected them carefully, and then looked up at the Fonz.
"You know that's not enough now," he said. The Fonz nodded.
"You know I want your boots and your jeans as well, don't you". Again the Fonz nodded, though he was so weak he could hardly move his head. He removed all the clothes that he had traded for water. The little man grabbed them from him as soon as he took them
off. Once the water seller had the jacket and the boots and the shades and the jeans he handed the Fonz a bottle of water.
The Fonz drank the water down, splashed it over his face. He'd never realised before that water is life in a small plastic bottle. While he drank the little guy changed into the Fonz's clothes.
"Say, this is great water," the Fonz shouted. "Where does it come from?"
"I don't know," the little guy replied, "I never asked."
When he finished drinking the Fonz realised that he was standing in the middle of a desert wearing nothing but his boxer shorts and his socks. He did not look cool. Having no other clothes he put on the discarded white uniform and straightened it out. The cut of the
material was quite good. It would do. He looked over to where the little guy was standing wearing the Fonz's jacket, jeans, shades and boots. They were all far to big for him and they hung off him like sacking. The shades kept sliding down his nose and he kept having to push them up again.
"Say, waddaya know!" shouted the Fonz, "you've got all my clothes and you still don't look as cool as I do wearing your old uniform!"
"Yeah," the little guy replied, turning to go, "but you're a cool water seller, and I'm free to leave." Saying this he started walking over the nearest dune. The Fonz watched him go until eventually he was over the top of the dune and out of sight. A few minutes later the Fonz heard the distant thrumming sound of a Harley driving off across the desert. He turned and looked at the little white cart, then looked down at himself. The sun beat down relentlessly as he fiddled with the parasol.
