10/23/17 11:45 a.m.

The weekly grocery bill came to $7.77 and packed heavily into a double bag weighing in at 10 pounds.

On this overcast morning, I had neglected my sunglasses disguise. So, despite my weary olive drab bush hat and ragged, unlined, olive drab coat with the cuffs hanging in tatters, one who heard my voice say, “Thank ye,” might be forgiven for mistaking me for the man who once ran the competing market two miles east.

As the two dollar bills were placed in the disintegrating wallet, hung limply splitting in my hand, I looked down behind me for reasons unknown or for no reason at all and looked right into the grey eyes of Hazel, a very short mulatto woman who always dressed modestly, often in a dress, kept her hair short and had had quite the shine in her eyes for “Mister Jimmy” as she used to invoke me like a workplace deity when the rough-edged hos [like the three Hood Norns: Tannika, Big-Titty Tannika and Fine-Ass Tannika] used to pick on her.

Our eyes met and hers brightened, until she saw how raggedly I was dressed and kept. She then recovered with a kind smile and began to say “Mister Jimmy,” but never finished as the narrowing of my eyes told her that Mister Jimmy was long since dead.

I turned my back on her again and walked out the automated door.

Skulker Jones is the sequel to A Hoodrat Halloween and an urban horror tale of a failed man looking for a final saving grace.