The Old Snow Shoe

This is short and not especially sweet and for everyone I encountered yesterday on a walk around the Harbor District, Chelsea as we like to call it, in Norwich. Here's what yesterday afternoon looked like, except deeper, a lot deeper.

Except. This is not for the ass with ears in the white GMC sport utility vehicle, still covered in snow, little more than a porthole in the windshield  to see out of, with a ton of snow on the hood and about two feet of it on the roof, toodling down Washington Street despite the Governor's injunction to stay off the roads (I guess you didn't think it applied to someone special like you), and talking on the cell phone.

I loved how I could see you coming as I slowly walked home out in the street because the sidewalks were a catastrophe, and looking farther along the street I watched three different folks working to open their driveways with snow shovels never intended to move this amount of snow, and each one stopped shoveling as you drove by and, holding their shovels with one hand, each offered you a membership in the single Rigid Digit Club.

As you neared me,  I realized I had no shovel so to compensate I doubled the pleasure and smiled to myself as I watched that quizzical look spread across your face. I can guess the question you were voicing to your oh-so-important partner on your cellphone. We did it because we couldn't shoot your car in the radiator until it bled to death all over Washington Street. And if you recognize yourself when you stumble across this screed, know, too, I have your plate number and look forward to the next time I see your vehicle and you're not in it. And yeah, you read it here first. Snow fooling around, ass hat.
-bill kenny