I saw a man with a dirty face today that looked like Gallagher. He was walking down the street and had a thrift store suit on that, although oversized, was actually very clean.
I presumed he didn’t wear this often and I watched him frequently check himself out in any window he could find for blocks. He seemed to exude a confidence in his walk that I doubted was a daily ritual, but maybe I’m wrong. It’s happened before.
“Oh yeahhh,” he said quietly, seductively, as he looked at his reflection again, once more of many times. He seemed to be oblivious of my watchful stare, but I enjoyed the show- not even realizing he had a finale.
Although there was no smashing of melons at that time, he didn’t seem to think there wouldn’t be later. Before we parted ways I heard him say to a window, in that same seductive and quiet voice, “Yeah, let me touch those breasttt…”