Observations on the way to Costello’s – December 7th, 2011
There is a tiny dog walking along the street with his master, barking at nothing. Just barking as if he, weighing about as much as a rabbit, will scare off the cars and bushes and trees.
I like watching women ride motorcycles, because they ride in a much different way than men do. They sit astride it not as powerfully, but gracefully, and just as in control.
My hands are never clean. I’m always picking up trash off the ground or petting strange animals.
I want a long coat, like the one that woman is wearing. But it would never look good on me. She is long and lanky, with thin legs, so it looks good trailing down to her ankles, hiding her, because you know underneath there is something beautiful.
In my neighborhood, the street names are written on the sidewalks, engraved in the cement.
It must be tricky to be a bus driver when cars on the road are always getting in your way. You have to navigate around them, and take big, wide turns, like the obese man of the vehicle world. I can’t imagine driving a bus, even though my mother did for years.