Friday, May 18, 2012
Not in Kansas (City) Anymore #2
Stories gathered from one morning commute:
A young man in his 20s, steering his beach cruiser with one hand. From the crown of his gray felt fedora to the tips of his brown brogans, he was dressed in clothing twice as old as he. The starched front of his white dress shirt was tucked neatly into the waistband of his black Sans-a-belt slacks. He held his left arm held tightly to his back with his fist pressed against two large black buttons sewn onto his pants. At a stoplight, he used both hands to steady the bike but when the light turned green, he ceremoniously reclenched his fist and tucked it back against the buttons. Cirque du Soleil artist? Or wanna be?
A rooster crowing up the sun from the grounds of a $20 million Brentwood mansion. Real-life Beverly Hillbillies?
A ridiculously handsome young male runner holding his arms at shoulder level with his elbows bent up much like the position TSA requires in airport scanners. As he ran, he growled repeatedly, "I'm a criminal. I'm a criminal. I'm a criminal." Actor practicing his lines?