skit #47: his mother taught him the same

You begin to presume, but your mother taught you not to judge.

He might be anyone. His hair, greasy from mousse or neglect; his skin, somewhere between sunbathed and weather-chapped; his confidence, from a 401K or 40oz. It's not who he is, but what he is doing. On he goes, rambling to himself of things grandiose, inane, honest. You can just make out his hoarse, lisped voice.

"Pregnancy is no different from cancer. You know, babies are kinda like tumors."
"You can start to hear colors nineteen octaves above middle C. Burgundy -- mm, so very fine!"

His large person eclipses a petite woman strolling in the shadow of his starboard side. They both look enthralled in their eccentric brand of badinage. They laugh gleefully after each exchange, delighted by the sheer exchange of words.

Soon, their chatter is no longer exchanged but overlaps. Her meek voice comes in range of your ear. Strange, she must feel more comfortable speaking Mandarin and he in English; Yes, they're both bilingual with preferences for their native tongues. Their chatter grows furiouser and furiouser, but with complete independence. It is apparent they aren't conversing at all. They both ramble to themselves. She leaves, clambering into a monastery.

The man you've followed turns right, heretically defying against the Red Hand of the crosswalk. His hair whips in the trade winds that stir in the financial district, revealing a bluetooth headset. The abstract jargon he rattles off is due to echo in an executive-fraught conference hall on the 99th floor of one of the skyscrapers high above. His steady gait fearlessly plows through the traffic and crowds. He has mastered this city.

You follow him into the garage of the Decker & Co headquarters. His pace and dictation quicken, clearly late to assume his daily duties as comptroller. He must drive a nice car. Probably has his own space. But you realize there's no reception amid all this cement. The blue indicator does not shine; The bluetooth headset is turned off. He manages to use the lavatory before security requests he leave the premises.

The man tells you he believes himself to be the character of a story, with all he says to have significance to an invisible audience. That his life is rife with misleading symbols that he must translate into misleading words. His words have meaning to someone not present.

You become privy to learn the story in which he will star contains no such parlor tricks.

It is true, the man is talking to himself. He tells you he is his own best company. You would tell him he should find himself to be nonsensical, but your mother taught you not to judge. He should find you rather boring, but his mother taught him the same.