“Am I bleeding?” His request was as calm and unemotional as it was deeply weird. His elbow, in the air, about a foot above the woman’s head, wasn’t even red with irritation, much less blood.
“Nope.” She was a cute lady, and her quip was sweet, succinct, and reassuring - to me at least. The young man wasn’t convinced.
“Are you sure? What about this side?” Without moving his right arm, he reached across his bulky torso, inelegantly grazed the outside of his elbow with his meaty left hand, and said, “What about right here?”
“No, not bleeding at all. It seems all your blood is where it should be.”
“OK, thanks.” He said flatly, without dropping his arm.
The woman turned up the speed on her shuffle and moved on to her shopping experience. It was my turn to talk to him. He did not drop his elbow as I approached and was craning his neck to check if she might have been hiding the truth about the status of his skin. When I stopped, he closed the distance and stood mere inches from me. We were the same height...
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