My feet are scattered, and the most
outlandish qualities of what's around
seem continually popping up. Outside
the old Print Shop, where they sell
art and reproductions, even though
it sounds like it's a print shop - old,
cigar-chomping guys on their multilith
shifts - the old, lady walks, half
bent-over to death already. Calcium
deficiency, osteoporosis; used to be
you heard a lot about that, especially
for older women. Now no one seems
to care. Walk it off, lady, walk it off.
Everyone these days is someone else.
How bizarre is that - once life becomes
a costume festival by choice and selection,
what's the sense of having a God Almighty
taking claim for what He's done? Boys and
girls of choice take precedence. Anyway,
all that 'rested on the seventh day' stuff
never made sense. Rest? God?
Outside this shop, I was saying, some
college local kids are talking over beers
and coffee. Loudly they proclaim. But
I don't want to hear. Do you know how
boring such predictable opinions start
to sound to a man of years like me?
Well, anyway, I still have manners
and just keep walking along.