baby sasquatch

I was taking Colleen home after karaoke night at the Spurr Lounge because she works tomorrow (home health care) and as I pulled up to her place, this little bugger popped out of the bushes and bolted down the street in front of me. Short guy, stocky, kind of bandy-legged. At the moment, I thought I'd either seen a baby Sasquatch in human clothes or a Mexican shape-shifting chupacabra. I gave Colleen a big distracted smooch, shoved her out the door and checked my Ruger single action and went into full-pursuit mode. I needed to know whether it was a stinky bud hallucination from the KGB I got from the dude in the parking lot at the bar or whether I had actually seen a mythical creature. If I could catch it and keep it alive for awhile, I could surely earn some TMZ cash.
Turns out, it was just a midget. A hobo midget.
I caught up with him in the park by the monkey bars. My stride gave me an advantage. Though he could scurry, I could run. And he stopped at the first shot I fired at him. He was drunk but because he was built so low to the ground, he didn't sway or stagger. He said his name was Bill. He offered up a flask. It was 12 year old MacAllen.
I said Bill, why were you in the bushes outside my girlfriend's house and he said, and I quote, "I was counting."
Counting what, I asked.
"Leaves. I'm from Omaha. They have trees and there we spend the better part of any given year counting the leaves. Like a census."
I left it that because I was flummoxed and baffled. So Bill and I finished off the flask and about three-teen beers each. Then I took Bill down to the hobo camp under the I-10 mini-stack. Gave him a loaf of Circle K bread and some onion rings and he scurried into the bushes.
As he fled, he yelled "there's too much company, Connor Oberst was right". Huh?
Now I'm conflicted, do I tell Colleen about the midget or do I find a new weed dealer who doesn't lace his product with fairy dust.