my blood is the type; your face is my teleprompter. hence, i no longer write for the Channel 8 newscasts.

The other day I got off work and decided to walk home through the quarter. If I had waited for the bus it would have taken me just as long to get across it, so why not? Now about a third of the way in, among various expectable Decatur street types, these two women came walking towards me and one had one beer and one had two beers. The woman with two beers saw me and offered me one saying,"We got too many!" This is either proves plainly that Americans are the worst mathematicians worldwide, or that this is the most obvious of lies. The beer was not spiked with anything I am sorry to say. While still heading westerly I looked in a shop window and saw a t-shirt sized for the very wee that read,"I (heart) Grandma." There was a shirt hanging next to it that opined,"FUCK YOU YOU FUCKIN' FUCKS (sic)". Don't get your hopes up, guys. They didn't stock any "I (heart) YOU FUCKIN' FUCKS" shirts, and luckily none of the completely played-out "FUCK YOU Grandma" shirts. I can't get my teeth around marketing like this. It's dollaricious.
I found out at my next bus stop that because of parades the route had been cancelled. To get home you have to drive up over the interstate, so I tried to find a walking path that didn't put me in the quick of 70 mph traffic. I got a little turned around and near the train tracks I met a man that said some unintelligible things to me before stabbing violently at a point a few feet in front of his face. This went on for several minutes. I figured if Mr. Stab had such important phantoms to contend with he wouldn't take much notice in me. I asked him," Hey! Do you know where Claiborne is from here?" He paused from his quixotic gallantry and pointed. Say what you will about Ol' Stabby McCripplingdementia and his host of imperceivable assailants, he knew where Claiborne was and that was more than I could say for myself at the time.
A few blocks from my house on the ghetto Dixie corner this dude was talking on the payphone and urinating on the sidewalk. There were perhaps a hundred people in plain sight of him at the busy intersection. I can't help seeing people like this and wondering why I am so self-conscious when the bar has been so drastically lowered. I have to admit that in spite of this I still USE A TOILET!! I swear I saw an alley cat give me the finger, too. This city doesn't let up. My socks are charmed straight through.