Ed is one of the others who doesn't just come to the Facility for group. “Not safe for public consumption.” He's eight foot, five inches tall, closing a tonne and can flip a manhole cover like you flip a dime. He sounds like a standing bass made out of an Ent. So when he breaks the silence it doesn't come around again for a while.
“Before I came to the Home, I spent some time playing bridge troll.”
There were a lot of creeks and short ravines where I lived, so I'd go hide under the bridges and wait for cars to pass. What I'd do is wait for some shiny luxury ride to come by, then come out from under the bridge and stop them. Sometimes the driver would try to keep going, maybe get by me, but most times they'd just stop and stare. Then I'd shout or pick up their car or something, just to freak 'em out a bit, get them out of the car. Once they ran off I'd rummage through whatever got left in the car. Nab any food, raid the trunk and the glove box, I had a buddy who'd pawn the stuff for me and we'd split the cash. Not great, and I'm not proud of it, but it was better than the freak show.
So one day I'm sitting under this bridge, it's a little out of the way, so it didn't see much in the way of rich folks, but my other spots were a little “over-fished.” The wrong sort taking an interest, you know? It's a pretty slow day, but the weather was nice and business had been good for a while, so it wasn't vital to score right then. Just stocking up.