reckless, role, local, forgot, missing

I found this blurb in a notebook of mine, written sometime around September 2000. The words I had to use were: reckless, role, local, forgot, missing.
***

The sign pasted on the outside window of the coffee-shop in Clareston said, "Cat missing since Thursday, October 21." The Scotch-tape had yellowed and the paper around the edges had the soft-vellum look of old manuscripts, but the picture of the tortoise-shell cat was still distinct. I don’t think anybody forgot to take down the sign. It had its own role and had become as much a part of the coffee-shop as the stacking doll set by the cash register and the green velour couch next to the KISS pinball machine. The pinball machine was still busted. The coffee-shop owner had once offered 50 bucks to anyone who could fix it. My classmates in the city would have snickered if I had invited them here. I wouldn’t ever invite any of them here. In fact, there was only one reason I was here: Ezekiel Wannamaker. In high school, Zeke was the town trouble-maker. He was also my best friend.

Zeke had asked me to come. He said it was important, so I was here. As I walked up to the pinball machine to twirl the knobs, a Bessie Smith song crackled over the half-blown-out speakers:

My mama says I'm reckless,
my daddy says I'm wild.
I ain't good lookin'
but I'm somebody's angel child.

Then, Zeke Wannamaker strode into the coffee-shop. His hands were bare of the heavy silver rings he used to wear on every finger, but he still had his carved wooden turtle hanging on a leather string around his neck. “Hey, bella,” he said, swinging his arms around my shoulders. "When did you dye your hair purple?"
***

Tell me what happened next. Email me a paragraph or two. Every contributor receives proper acknowledgement including a heroic couplet written in his or her honor.