Meeting the King
I think it gave his life some sort of meaning. He never really got paid for his time - at least, by anyone with a brain stem. He had also grown out his hair so that he would have to wear a toupee. Nasty sideburns crawled down his face like some bizarre Saxon ivy, and he had piled his hair - with the liberal aid of Crisco, I think - on top of his head in a black pompadour fit to impress a weatherman. One had to admire him for his spunk (which was considerable), crooning and serenading every passerby (including myself) with "Only You" as his hips randomly gyrated, causing people to randomly return their lunch from whence it came. It was interesting that he didn't seem to mind people's habit of widely circumventing his act with heads down and whispered voices, as if Elvis Impersonation was a leprosy that might catch if not given sufficient berth. Still, I find some odd envy in his ability to see his profoundly abnormal activity as a necessary and effectual part of everyday life.
I suppose I'll miss something if he quits. The laughter, at least.