Next day, walking along again, stopped at a traffic light, waiting for the signal. Across the street, also waiting, I see a fat guy in a white shirt, big red letter B on it. Rang a bell. I looked at his face: his head was way too small for his body, but he seemed to be making up for it with a big, bushy beard. The signal changed, everyone started walking, and as we passed I tried to make eye contact with the guy. He ignored me.

A few days went by, I didn't have reason to be downtown. I think that was the week I was writing a lot of Zach Galifianakis fan fiction. A sample follows. Finally I had to emerge from my hobbit hole, and get some sunshine. I was downtown, heading to a cafe that has one of those ugly-cute baristas, and as I was walking along, I saw the guy again. He'd lost some weight, and was wearing another white shirt, this one with the letter I on it, again in red. I did the math-- it had been the right number of days, if he'd been working his way through the alphabet one day at a time.

The next day I made an excuse to be downtown again at about the same time. I wandered around for hours. I chased almost every fat dude in a white shirt that I saw from behind. Got a few funny looks. Is this how a street-crazy is born? But: nothing. until I almost gave up. I had a seat on the courthouse steps, looking at the ankles of law clerks in business skirts going by. Then I saw him, way down the street, a big red letter J on his shirt. I got up and ran after him, but he'd turned a corner, and I couldn't find him.

The next day I prepared sandwiches, sunglasses, binoculars, bus fare, a map of downtown, and all of my cafe frequent-cup cards. I spent a full eight hours down there, rush hour to rush hour. I saw him three times, big red letter K.

By the next day I figured out what area he frequented. He'd gone by this cafe a few times, and so here I am today. I am on stake out. I am going to see this through. I want to know what happens when he gets to Z. If he starts all over I'm going to be very disappointed.

***

It's two hours later. He came in. The letter man came into this cafe! I was slowly sipping a mocha, trying to decide if I should risk a quick bathroom break or not, when he showed up, and walked right towards me. I blanched--was he onto my game? Approaching to harangue me for making him my hobby? But no, he just went to the door, ignoring me altogether, walked in, and right up the counter. He said something to the ugly-cute barista, who went through a side door, then emerged behind a tall guy that had "manager" written all over his body.

"Have you made up your mind then?"

The fat guy, who kinda wasn't so fat anymore, said, "Yes. I'll take the job. But I have to be fair and tell you I don't really want it. I'm just doing this to make my dad happy. He wants me to get a job, and I just don't need to listen to him nag me anymore."

The manager wrinkled his brow, and I thought he was going to tell the guy off. But no. "Oookay... can you come in tomorrow, 7 am? We'll get you started."

"Sure," the guy said, and walked out. The manager watched him go, shrugged at the barista, and went back to his office.

Outside, the guy just stood there, looking across the street. I could see him in profile, see the big red M on his chest. He looked sad. Broken, defeated. As I watched, he started taking off his shirt, and underneath it, another shirt, exactly the same, except for the letter N. Then he took off this shirt, revealing and O. Then a P. With each shirt his face grew sadder, until finally he was crying. Q, R, the tears streamed down his face, and I found I was crying a little too. S, T, U, I finally couldn't bear it anymore. I didn't want to see what happened when he took off the Z and stood there, naked, hopeless.