Tobis, and why I shouldn't wear a bandana anymore

It must send the wrong message. I was sitting enjoying my fruit salad. It was hot, so I had my bandana twisted, soaked with water, and wrapped around my neck to keep me cool--one trick that has stuck around since Peace Corps. A man of about forty, wearing a violet headwrap, asks me for some food. I hand him my banana and then a series of questions follows:

Can I sit down?
my first mistake was saying yes. The rest of my answers are pretty obvious and don't need to be written down.

Can I be your wife?
Then can I be your faggot?
Are you Puerto Rican?
Do you have a light?
Where are you going?
Don't you think its wrong to use the bookstore's waterfountain without buying anything?
What is your name?
Do you have a wife?
Can I have that bandana?
Where do you live?
Does your mother wear make-up?
Does your father keep track of who you talk to?
Can I come into the bathroom with you?
Do you have a light?
Can you take me to get a light?
Can I shake your hand?

Of course there were a few statements, inbetween all of the questions:
I am a vampire.
My mother was raped by 50,000 men.
I am a proctor for the army.
My name is Tobis.
My name is Lawrence, because Demons want to keep me dead.
There are 15 demons, one of them is ghetto, a few are royalty.
I used to think I was a transvestite because my vagina is so small.

At the end, I made the second mistake to shake his hand. He wouldn't let go, and eventually I pulled my hand away from him, went to the bookstore and washed it as thoroughly as I have ever washed anything in my life.