You see people all day, and rarely wonder what their lives might be like outside of that ten seconds it takes for them to pass in front of your face. Usually I just sense they are around me, especially during rush hour; we're all cattle running to the same slaughter -- camaraderie. More often than not, I'm angry at over-population -- where did you come from? why are you walking slowly in front me? On a good day, I find myself scanning for someone attractive to glance at... look away... glance at... look away... More so, lately, I find myself staring at someone old, and the distinct awareness of my own mortality rushes through me like ice water.
Today, I noticed quite the character: Mr. Unlucky. He made his presence known by sidling up next to me on the corner and coughing loudly...twice. At first I thought it was a German Shepherd in a car, but then Mr. Unlucky passed by me and barked again. The cough was unsettling enough for me to physically wince. Soon his pace overtook mine, and he enraptured me with his tragic ballet. Wearing a navy blue suit coat and black slacks, in three steps he hit a puddle, kicked a half-eaten hot dog bun, then stumbled into vomit. He looked down, but his speed only quickened. Just then my attention meandered to the right when a tall Jim Halpurt-type passed me. My eyes rolled over his shoes, his ass, his bag, his haircut -- you know, the stuff that makes a man. Then he left me for the bank. Right at the moment, Mr. Unlucky paused for a new puddle and strategically rested both shoes in it. I deduced: to clean off the hot dog bread and the vomit.
Where was that guy going anyway?
My Little Brown Brother sent me this whopper of an article yesterday: Who is this woman who refused to leave the bathroom? Who refused to move her ass from the toilet? Who sat on her throne for TWO YEARS? HER SKIN WAS STUCK TO THE TOILET BOWL. Who are these people everywhere around us?
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