Uncle_Larry.jfif
[Hide] (716.1KB, 1016x710) Before I get started, I want to say this picture is not what Uncle Larry looks like. Or at least not how he looked like to me.
I'm from an eastern European country that starts with S. I currently work in a home for the elderly. My shift stops at 9pm, when the night shift comes in. I don't have a car, so I take the bus to get back home. As I live in a rural part of my country, there rarely is anyone else at the bus station at 9pm.
One day I sit there at the bus stop, and this man aged fifty comes up and sits next down to me. He greets me like I am family. I greet him back like he's family. Like I have always known him. Uncle Larry, which is his name, brings up old stories. Like how he got so drunk on the wedding of my mother he pushed over the table with the buffet. Or how he bribed the police when he and my father got stopped in a traffic control on their way to the hospital where I was born - also while drunk.
We get into the bus, and Uncle Larry tells more stories. I laugh at them, because I remember them. Crazy old stories from a crazy old uncle. When I get out of the bus, Uncle Larry gives me a clap on the shoulder, but stays inside the bus.
You will know this story makes no sense. First, there are no "Larries" where I come from. Plenty of Ivans and Antons, but surely no English Larries. Second, I of course have no uncle called "Larry". Third, I could not possibly remember something happening on the wedding of my mother or from the hospital where I was born