He stumbled towards women, and then he would stop, staring into their faces before turning away in disgust.His coat was stained and looked as if it had lain in more than one gutter. Why he was wearing a long trench coat on a warm summer’s day was anyone’s guess. The coat was open and flapped around him. The white shirt underneath was hanging loose, half unbuttoned and covered in a variety of stains. The black trousers were similarly stained.He clutched a shoe in his right hand. It was a woman’s shoe; suede, royal blue, with a little black bow over the toes. He had stolen it from the basket of sale shoes sitting outside the shoe shop a few minutes earlier. He held it in front of him like an amulet, waving it from side to side as he sought out any woman he could see on the street. He would approach them, the shoe held up to their face before lowering it to look at her feet before raising it again and stumbling on.He kept up a running commentary as he stumbled along. He’d mutter. May I have a few more breaths?" "Sure Mom. I have another one for Daddy."Well, needless to say, all our experiences were similar and we did indeed make an excursion for a week in the Keys. When my 12 year old brother began the week, he was a normal kid and still a pain in the ass. He was persistent in trying to forcibly drag the entire story out of us about how we became girls but we just as persistently avoided telling him the entire story OR the whole truth nor did we ever mention the scuba shop air. We just played around the edges of the story with casual innuendo and pseudo facts to whet his appetite. We could see a slight shift in his mindset begin to form around the third dive. He was becoming a tolerable kid to be around.By the time the sixth dive was over however, he was joining in our shopping trips with a little more interest. Apparently time had nothing to do with the transition. It had to be about the volume of this strange air that passed through your lungs and every.
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