Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Two Hundred Solemn Faces

Coming back from a medical appointment yesterday (when you're the world's only living brain donor you spend a lot of time consulting with physicians) I passed a gentleman promenading in a full set of Harley Davidson leathers. Very nearly way cool.

I mean, I knew they were H-D authentics but old school HD because they were jet black and burnt amber in color, skin tight with baby killer shades, a Ben Davidson handlebar moustache (back when the Raiders didn't suck) and, with apologies to Warren, his hair was perfect.

Oh yeah, slightly discordant note. Easy Rider, make that Cool Walker (minus the Texas Ranger) was walking a shaved miniature french poodle, which is (I'm sure) a lovely animal-loyal, faithful, well-behaved (perhaps makes its own gravy) but in the pantheon of real dogs, actually isn't even close to being one (in my biased opinion). I don't how far they'd been walking but the dog wasn't, anymore. The guy was dragging it behind him and neither seemed too joyful at the turn of events. Ruined the whole 'dig me' effect, I thought, but then again what do I know?

Sort of like, as also seen yesterday (actually saw THREE of them after not having seen any for weeks and months), deciding a dumbly designed and whimsically engineered (on a good day with a tail wind) car is best called Smart. Probably just me, but I always expect to see Dr. Who stepping out of one as it comes to a rolling stop because I think his police call box inspired the design (and I don't mean as in from another dimension but thanks for the kindness of that thought).

I was hurrying to get back to work though by the end of the day in all honesty, I'd be hard-pressed to tell you why I thought there was any urgency. Just another hard habit to break, I suspect, nothing big and important.
-bill kenny

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