The Donation of Pepper

After we’d got off the London Eye, Burbank and I headed for the nearest Tube station so we could buy some books from little shops near Leicester Square. On the way to the station, one of the wheels off Burbank’s rolling luggage broke off. He said isn’t it ironic how he invented the wheel and it was betraying him. I told him not to be paranoid.

We could only take the Tube as far as St. Paul’s because the Central Line was down after that, so we had to walk. Burbank’s arms became weak from lugging his heavy one-wheeled suitcase around, and I wouldn’t help him because I’m lazy.

“We’re not going to a museum today,” I said, “and you were going to give away your art for free anyway. Why not give it to a homeless man or woman? The poor can appreciate art, too.”

Burbank thought this was a genius idea and pulled out his figurine of St. George made entirely out of old salt and pepper shakers. He set it beside a grubby woman sleeping under an overpass. He left her the luggage, too.

We made our way to Leicester Square, me looking like a tourist with my nose stuck in a map. I asked the woman behind the counter if they had any books by Milo Tomb. She looked it up on her computer and said no they didn’t.

I made quite a scene, shouting at first and then letting out a groan of exhaustion and laying down on the floor. The woman didn’t like this and had me kicked out by her manager who sneezed on me when he was throwing me out. That’s rude, isn’t it? Burbank thought it was funny and took this picture of me: