Gator A-Go-Go Read Free Page B

tambourine or makes shadow puppets, but mostly it knocks. Are you ready? Bet you can’t wait! Knock-knock! Hi, I’m Opportunity!” Serge placed a pile of large, thick-stock white cards on the counter. He flipped up the top one, covered with Magic Marker handwriting.
    N O S OLICITING .
    The clerk scratched his head. “You’re soliciting to sell ‘No Soliciting’ signs?”
    “I know! Can’t believe it hasn’t been thought of before: The perfect mix of product and presentation. We came in here creating a problem and providing the solution. Just look at my friend here . . .“ —Coleman burped and fell back against the door frame—”. . . Do you need this kind of nonsense all day long?”
    “I—”
    Serge pounded the counter again. “Hell no! You have important stains to get out and can’t waste time with every bozo who wanders in from the street with bottles of the latest stain-removal craze, but they’re really just giving all their money to a doomsday cult with their fancy suicide machines and little or no interest in the laundry arts. I’m sure they’ve already been in here a thousand times.”
    “Not really—”
    “Five dollars,” said Serge. “I’ll even throw in ‘No Public Rest-rooms.’ That’s actually more critical. Ever seen a restroom after Coleman’s done his fandango?” Serge whistled. “Not a pretty picture.”
    “I don’t think—”
    “There’s a guy in our trunk,” said Coleman.
    “Maybe I need to amp the presentation.” Serge leaned comfortably against the counter and stared at the ceiling. “I love dry cleaners. Could hang out for hours . . .”
    Coleman raised his hand. “Can I use your bathroom?”
    “. . . Always wondered,” said Serge, idly tapping his fingers. “What the fuck’s Martinizing?”
    “If you don’t leave I’m calling the police.”
    Next stop, dentist office. Same story. Accounting firm, ice cream parlor, nope, nope.
    Computer repair, walk-in clinic. “Howdy! Pay no attention to the man behind the beer . . .”
    The owner of the dog-grooming service pointed at an already-posted N O S OLICITING sign.
    “My point exactly,” said Serge. “Did it stop us? ”
    “Out!”
    They reached a drugstore. Serge pulled a handwritten list from his wallet and headed toward the back.
    “Wait up,” said Coleman. “Aren’t you going to sell your signs?”
    “Not yet. Have to pick up a few things. Let’s see . . .” He began grabbing items off shelves. “. . . Nylon rope, pliers, razor blades, duct tape—naturally—nine-volt batteries, broom, saw . . .”
    “One of your projects?”
    Serge turned up the next aisle. “If this baby doesn’t win me a grant . . . Kwik Dry superglue, wire cutters, tape measure, kite string . . .”
    He finally arrived at the counter and tried to pay with some signs, but the cashier said they only took dollars and credit cards.
    “But America was founded on a barter economy.” Serge reached for his wallet. “That’s the whole problem with stores. It’s all about money.”
    Serge walked across the parking lot and opened the Challenger’s trunk. A head popped up. He smacked it with a tire iron. “Not your turn.”
    Coleman peed on the side of the building. The front side. He straggled over. “We didn’t sell any signs . . . What are you doing now?”
    “The free market was built on artificial demand.”
    Serge rummaged through the trunk and removed a larger sign on a wooden stake. He hammered it into the ground next to the road.
    They drove away. Downtown came into view.
    “Fort Myers, City of Palms!” Serge raised a camera. Click, click. “And there’s the new baseball stadium!”
    “Serge, do we really have to watch a stupid baseball game?”
    “It is not stupid.”
    “Nothing happens. Dudes stand in a field a long time, then every once in a while someone runs a little bit, then they stand around again.”
    “They serve beer.”
    “I love baseball.”
    A few miles back, passing motorists stared