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Damn, that guy can yell. You hope he finds his wife soon so you don't have to shut him up yourself. You're probably joking. Anyhow, between the sprinting and the sun you could use a drink, and as thoroughly disgusted as you are at the prospect of suckling from the teat of the Gods(day vendors) a lemonade sounds really, really good. And you can use it as an opportunity to scope out—
You're grabbed by the shoulder and spun around before you can react.
"LOTTIE! Oh, thank shit! I-I-I thought I'd nev—" A unfamiliar man peers down at you. He smells of the beach, which is to say of fish and old wrappers. "Wait. You're not..."
"Who the hell are <span class="mu-i">you?</span>" you snap, and yank yourself away.
He pushes his glasses up his nose. "I- I- I'm Gil. I-If that's what you mean... i-i-it's telling me I'm a Teddy, but I— what is it telling you you are?"
Oh, great, it's a loony. "Bye," you say, and dart off toward the lemonade.
"Lottie! Lottie..." Great. Great. He's following. "Okay, what's your name?"
(You shortened it to the initials a couple months ago: Claudia just isn't, you know, mysterious.) "Here it is," you say, and flip him off.
"Hey, okay, okay, you're not..." He lowers his glasses to itch his eyes. "Maybe I-I-I got the wrong... sorry. Sorry. I-If you run into anybody calling herself Lottie, or- or Charlotte, could you please tell her Gil's looking for her? With the overalls and the, uh, beetle jars..."
"Beetle jars," you intone, before catching sight of the man's bulging pockets. "Oh, gods, what the— what are <span class="mu-i">those</span> for? Do you eat them?"
The jars in his pockets are, indeed, packed full of beetles. The man blanches. "Uh, I-I-I think Teddy raises the grubs to sell as, um, bait? For fishing? I-I-I think I have a whole business... Teddy does. Or at least a stand here. He's a pretty cool guy, I-I think... not that you asked..."
A <span class="mu-i">complete</span> loony, but strangely compelling. You eye him. "Those aren't grubs, though. Those are full-on live..."
"He's trying to convince people they're better than grubs... I-I think they didn't sell, then, um, grew up. And now they're me, so now they really won't—"
"They're <span class="mu-i">you.</span>"
"Yeah. I'm, um... I-I think I'm spread out over Teddy and, uh, all his beetles... I-I-I don't have to talk out of this mouth," he says from his midsection. "It's just less confusing... sorry to bother you. Like I-I said, if you find Lottie, please—"
From his <span class="mu-i">midsection.</span> "Open your coat," you say.
"Oh? Uh..." He fumbles with the snaps, then the zipper, but finally opens it wide for you. Did you expect something else? Every inch of his midsection (and his coat lining) is plastered with beetles. "See?" they say. "They used to all be in jars, but I-I got most of them out... couldn't open these two. I-I was thinking of finding a can opener for the lids, if you know where to, um..."
There is a pressure in your head. "You've got beetles in your coat."
The man examines this. "Uh... yes."
(2/3??)
