…I dropped the rest of the skin on the ground and watched as each one rolled into an empty cavity in the road. I turned to say goodbye to Orange County and there stood Ronnie. He had no jaw. His upper lip hung like tasseled leather and rustled like drapes. He pointed at the mountain and wagged his finger. “What’s down there?” I asked.
“Awww…” He gasped. I rolled my eyes—annoyed. I never got a good solid answer out of Ronnie. Why I asked him anything was a topic I spent hours discussing with myself. But he was always around, staring into his phone, checking an app of some sort. More importantly he was the only person around.
“Aww…Gaww…Aww…Yaww,” he bellowed out his throat hole. His finger still motioned to the mountain. It hurt to look Ronnie in the eye. The deformity was too close to avoid. When he attempted to speak a stream of mucus trailed downward from where his lower jaw should be. Every shirt he owned bore the same stain on the chest. He was a disgusting wretch of a man, and I typically punctuated his odor with a gag reflex. Ronnie would burp out laughter. I think he enjoyed being a nasty creature.