parker wilson johnson was the center of the universe.
everybody in the world either loved or hated him.
when and if he died and was completely forgotten, the universe would perish with him. he knew this.
one day he was seated at the counter of a small diner across the street from a busy bus terminal, working on his favorite meal of scrambled eggs, sausages, and hash browns, with lots of ketchup.
a young woman named esther morris came into the diner. she was wearing a nice clean white dress because she was planning to get married at city hall during her lunch hour, to ralph barber, a young man she had met at a dance a week before.
the only unoccupied seat at the counter was the one to the right of parker wilson johnson, hunched over his plate of ketchup soaked food. esther morris did not care much for the sight of parker, but she wanted a cup of tea to calm her nerves, so she sat down on the empty stool.
just as she did, parker decided he wanted a little more ketchup on his plate. the bottle of ketchup provided for him was almost empty, and when it did not provide the amount he desired, he gave the bottom of it a good whack.
the bottle happened to be pointed in esther’s direction, and a large blob of thick ketchup was ejected from it and landed on esther’s clean white dress.
harsh words were exchanged. parker was a regular customer and esther was not , so earl, the counterman, took parker’s side a bit more than a strictly objective attitude might have warranted.
in the end, no blows were exchanged, and no authorities summoned.
parker has passed away. esther remembers the incident very well. she is the now only living person who remembers parker, or anything he ever said or did.
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