Lobsterman stands, as he is inclined to do, at Michigan and Pearson, tall, red, and proud. Hurrying shoppers ignore him as rain begins to fall, assailing his huge red head and shiny satin skin. For a few minutes he seems a mere shell of a man–stiffly awaiting recognition, even acknowledgment. He starts to wander east toward the lake when a woman stops him.
“Can we take your picture?” one kid asks. Lobsterman nods graciously, and they click away.
A minute later, two kids with backpacks approach Lobsterman and ask in thick German accents, “Vat are you supposed to be? A member of da’ Vatican?” Lobsterman cracks a smile. “Actually, I’m the antichrist.”
Just then, a bunch of guys in a car drive by yelling “Get a real job, loser!” For a moment Lobsterman looks forlorn, but within seconds he claps his claws together and says, “There are bad things about every job, but I don’t like to dwell on them. Besides, this is more than a job. This is my alter ego. When I’m Lobsterman, the sea is my oyster!”
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Lobsterman smiles. “I’d be happy to help out,” he says, and sprints across the street to Walgreens.
Lobsterman extends a claw and she runs her hands along the smooth fabric. “Amazing. I thought you were Sebastian from the movie The Little Mermaid,” she says. Lobsterman grabs the woman and stares at her desperately. “Seriously, do I look like Sebastian?”
