You think the cavemen knew that people thousands of years in the future would travel across the world to see their scribblings? That serious scholars would study their drawings of horses and buffalo that could also be seen at any local day care center?
I thought of this as I walked down the sidewalk of my youth to see a carving in a sidewalk still existed twenty years after it was written. When that plot of wet cement was set sometime in the early nineties I would have not accepted a bet that the words “Key Rat Rob N” would still stand this deep into the twenty-first century. Other carvings on the opposite side of the street that said “Dildo Man Strikes” and the years of Kurt Cobain’s birth and death have been restored to pristine condition. But Key Rat Rob N still stands.
I assume there have been people who have walked their dogs or gone for a morning jog every damn day over those words with no idea who Key Rat Rob N was. Do they imagine a story of who he might be or do they give it no more thought then what the word, “Asplundh” means when passing a construction site?
I don’t know what Key Rat Rob N is up to now. He is probably either dead or attending an AA meeting. Or maybe he is running for elective office for when George W Bush was president he reminded me of Key Rat Rob N.
Key Rat Rob N was the type of guy who when attending a party would urinate in a couple empty bottles of beer, stick them in the fridge and wait for someone to get thirsty. But the greatest story was when he got his comeuppance. I was told he was at a party drinking and being obnoxious wearing some steel plated work boots. When his attention was distracted a lit cigarette was thrown into his boot. The culprits watched with great interest as Key Rat Rob N kept drinking like nothing had changed. He made fart noises, spoke of which girls he’d like to roofie, and then he started looking at his boot. They tried not to laugh when he looked down at his foot again. Then out of nowhere he started shrieking like a teenage Beatles fan. He took off his boot as fast as he could which took a while as there were so many laces on those heavy shoes. When he threw them off the cigarette came out and he screamed, “Who did this?”
The pranksters (and I swear to God I was not one of them though I wish I was there to see it) convinced him it was some guy who had left. Key Rat Rob N grabbed another beer and kept drinking.
Though your foot may be scarred, if you are out there somewhere reading this, Key Rat Rob N, know your legacy on Ocean Lane Drive is intact.