Friday, June 24, 2005

When I walk to the bus stop I move at a quick pace. My concentration is fully occupied with dodging dog shit, lurching drunks, and toddering old ladies. The other day as I made my jaunt. A chubby old man shriveled like a pale prune jumped into my path. He wore a child's cowboy costume complete with a tiny hat and plastic pistol. "Money for the whisky!" he yelled brandishing his weapon to which I replied with the squeal of a ten year old girl.

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