It was a beautiful Spring evening; the sun flirted with the mountaintops. We sat on the front deck of Sporty’s when a drunk looking like Pee-Wee Herman without the bowtie rode his bicycle up the sidewalk. In this town, a drunk riding a horse up the sidewalk isn’t uncommon. But there was something different about this guy. He wasn’t a local and he had an attitude – and a prosthetic leg.
Heads turned as he stopped in front of the deck, mumbled to himself, and took a bite out of an apple. Jaws dropped when his leg fell off. Tears welled in my eyes; my face turned purple suppressing my laugh.
“Need help?” Big Steve asked the man.
My chest heaved as he tried to pick up his leg. I tried to be good.
I ran inside and howled. Inside, customers asked what was so funny. Before that night I never had a clear picture of a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest.
After a good Samaritan retrieved the leg, the one-legged drunk man secured it and laid on the deck in front of the door.
“Hey buddy, you can’t lay there,” I told him.
He ignored me. I threatened to call the cops, to which Mullet replied to the man, “I don’t know where you’re from, but in this town, you don’t have a leg to stand on.”
Another night in real life Northern Exposure.