Chris Grabenstein - Mad Mouse

She smiles and I walk past tables crowded with happy tourists talking about how much fun they had on the boardwalk yesterday. I see Mayor Sinclair over in a corner table. A mob of local merchants drops by to congratulate him on the Labor Day celebration's success.

I head into the kitchen, pass the sputtering griddles, smell the sizzling bacon. My empty stomach urges me to stop and devour a skillet or two. Instead, I head out the door.

I see Grace Porter, hands on hips, staring at the back wall of her building.

“You gentlemen do excellent work,” she says.

“Thank you, ma'am.” It's Ceepak.

“Thanks.” And T. J.

They both have paint rollers on poles and are working pink paint over the pig cartoon, covering up the blue paintball splotches T. J. put there earlier.

“Good morning, Officer Boyle,” Grace says to me. “Why aren't you on duty?”

“The chief gave me the day off.”

“Excellent. Did you eat breakfast?”

“No ma'am.”

“I'll bring out a basket of muffins.”

She heads inside.

“We're almost finished with the second coat of pink,” Ceepak says.

“You need a hand?”

“No thanks. T. J. and I have the situation pretty well under control.”

“We're cool,” says T. J.

“Hey, thanks for looking out for Jimmy yesterday,” I say to T. J.

“No problem. Jimmy's cool.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you know T. J. designed his own arm tattoo?” Ceepak says. “He's quite talented.”

“I just, you know, like to draw and stuff.”

“He's awesome. Going to redraw the cartoon lines on the pig for us. I'm afraid I'd make a mess were I to attempt such intricate work.”

“It's easy,” T. J. says. “All in the wrist.” He picks up a can of black paint and starts working in the lines, carefully restoring the big pig to its former glory. “See?”

“It's all good. Real good.”

Watching the two of them, I am, of course, reminded of another Springsteen song. I guess Bruce wrote it about his dad. He could've written it about Ceepak though if, you know, the two of them had ever met:

Well so much has happened to me

That I don't understand

All I can think of is being five years old

Following behind you at the beach

Tracing your footprints in the sand

Trying to walk like a man

Like I've said before, John Ceepak has a code he tries to live by. He will not lie, cheat, or steal. He will, however, leave some damn decent footprints for you to try and trace in the sand.

Even if you're a young kid like T. J.

Or an older one like me.