A full week of work. The Van Man was appreciative. A construction gig, a few summer camp classes and an estate sale, bookended by a short film shoot and a play performance. One could say his week was busy as hell.
Van Man needed a good workout, so he headed to his park. It was not really his, but he had an emotional stake in it. After all, Van Man kept it classy.
He arrived with The Sun reaching its hottest. Van Man stripped off his shirt and lugged the weights out of the van. He neared his favorite spot and noticed a meathead working out on the pull-up bars. Fuck him, thought Van Man. But then he calmed down. It was, after all, not really his park. Meathead had as much right as Van Man to do a pull-up. Van Man sat his weights down and loosened up. Meathead hustled over to a different area to continue his exercises and Van Man began his on the bars. As usual, he recited Shakespeare between sets. The Sun got hotter and sweat dribbled down his brow.
In the middle of Queen Mab, Meathead interrupted and stepped right into Van Man's face. Meathead held his hand high in the air.
"Good stuff, bro, good stuff!"
"What?", asked Van Man.
"Good stuff, bro!"
"Yeah, man.", replied Van Man and he recognized something in the way Meathead continued to hold his hand in the sky. It was an attempt to give Van Man some skin. He had not given skin in fifteen years, but that was about to change. Van Man held out his hand, palm up. Meathead smiled and gave up a bit of that flesh, then hustled off. Van Man wiped his hand on his bare stomach. Fuck him.
The Van Man continued his work-out and recited Iago's "Villain" speech. He knew he would have to wrap it up soon because more people arrived to exercise. He was not angry, though. After all, The Van Man was just the caretaker.