A Walk in the Dark

Times have changed from the days when stickmen could walk around this fair city in peace.

Times have changed from the days when stickmen could walk around this fair city in peace.

 

Seeing as how the weather is so fine these days I make it a point to take walks as often as possible.  And plus my car needs insurance.  But during these many jaunts, as I gaily galavant about town, since one never knows for certain where foolery may strike next I try to remain vigilant against all manner of unexpected events.  Such as:

 

Syringe Cringe or Bread Man Walking – Nothing like finding some goodies while you’re happily walking along.  Coming back from the store a few days ago, loaf of delicious wheat bread in hand, what did I spot of all lovely things but a syringe on the ground, glistening in the hot sun.  Well well.  What do we have here?  Upon closer inspection I saw that the needle part was broken off, likely in the arm of some passed out junkie nearby, but the plunger thing or whatever was still intact.  What exactly is the protocol here?  I’m certainly not touching the fuckin thing.  I don’t know how far hepatitis can jump.  But there’s little kids everywhere.  It seems more than a little negligent to just leave it on the ground like an errant penny or clump of dog doo.  Do I call the police?  Or do dudes in HazMat suits show up and dispose of the thing?  I don’t know why the addict assholes can’t take their goddamn garbage with them when they’re done.  Being a junkie is bad enough, you don’t have to be a litterbug too.

 

Smoke on the Daughter – Today while strolling along I saw a woman pushing a baby carriage coming towards me about a hundred yards away.  Nothing special.  Except I noticed that the woman kept putting something to her lips and then blowing out a huge cloud of smoke for her and the baby to idiotically meander through.  As she got closer I saw with horror and revulsion that she wasn’t doing something admirable like smoking a blunt, she was doing something awful and smoking a cigarette.  It smelled like a goddamn ashtray walking down the street.  Oh that’s real nice.  Take the baby out for a little fresh air and some emphysema.  Why don’t you just stub your cigarettes out on the baby while you’re at it?  Genuinely mortified, I did the only sensible thing I could think of: I overturned the carriage and ran off.

 

Ten Speed, Three Piece – It’s always funny and out of place when you see someone riding a bicycle and using a cell phone.  That’s like brining a laptop horseback riding.  But there’s nothing more out of place than when I saw a dude peddling down the street rocking a three-piece suit.  It looked like Patrick Bateman on a paper route.  Meanwhile I’m like, “What the fuck?  Is that the dude who owns Huffy or something?”  Because of all the impractical bikewear to don, riding around on a friggin banana seat looking like Mr. Peanut has got to be near the top of the list.  Come to think of it, what’s with all these syringes and bicycles popping up lately?  It’s like Lance Armstrong’s hometown around here.

 

 

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