Friday, May 30, 2008
Choose Your Own Adventure
Yesterday, as I was walking home I spied a black Jansport tossed into the bushes alongside a main road. The backpack was obviously stuffed to the brim with something. I stopped for a minute to consider my options. It felt like a gameshow. Behind door number one could be a slew of options: a bundle of interesting letters and photos I could voyeuristically enjoy, tons of pot, money I'd wrestle with taking home, a human head, a gun, a baby, a kitten, a pie, a basketball (I once got in trouble in elementary school for stuffing a basketball inside the backpack of a red-headed boy I despised...so I know these things happen).
My bet was on the grimmer of these choices. That's the problem with snooping like that--people don't usually throw back-packs filled with harmless objects out of windows. Perhaps as soon as I picked it up, a police duo would blindside me and arrest me for possession of THE WEED. Or maybe the human head would permanently alter my sanity. Or some hoodlums would begin to stake out in front of my house once they realized I had their stash of guns.
The polar route is that the backpack contained some case-concluding evidence that I could have turned in to the Durham police, perhaps catupalting my name out there is local hero territory, thus setting myself up for free meals at local restaurants, and a general glowing admiration in the wake all of my perambulating.
But instead of picking it up, I just left it there. Nice and cozy in its mystery and brush.
My bet was on the grimmer of these choices. That's the problem with snooping like that--people don't usually throw back-packs filled with harmless objects out of windows. Perhaps as soon as I picked it up, a police duo would blindside me and arrest me for possession of THE WEED. Or maybe the human head would permanently alter my sanity. Or some hoodlums would begin to stake out in front of my house once they realized I had their stash of guns.
The polar route is that the backpack contained some case-concluding evidence that I could have turned in to the Durham police, perhaps catupalting my name out there is local hero territory, thus setting myself up for free meals at local restaurants, and a general glowing admiration in the wake all of my perambulating.
But instead of picking it up, I just left it there. Nice and cozy in its mystery and brush.
old pictures
I think i talk too much about France in real life, so let's agree that this is the first and last time it will come up here. ok!!!!
Recently i became friends on facebook with a guy i studied in France with. His name was Marcello and he acted as the Italian playboy in every situation (in class, where his answers in discussion circles typically involved sex and hash; at bars; in the dorm; at meals). He put some pictures in an album that are all old and from that year and it really threw me to see all these people's faces together again, if only through a computer screen.
I'm not in any of the pictures, which is fine, because usually I avoided going out at night with him and his little group. All of us were reasonably close, that is, more or less separate from the French students unless we made a point of going out with the French, but he and his were too much. Below is the only picture where i thought i saw myself. I wore a lot of outfits that combined teal and Carolina blue, and i got coffee a lot in that cafe, so i thought, hey, maybe i am in one! But no, it's one of the Spanish girls. To her right is Mark, from Australia, who was drunk all the time--even in yoga class, even at 9:00 exams. At the far left are Paolo, Thomas, and Sebastian, who are great guys. I miss them.
Here's another one. Marcello is on the left. Ross and Thomas are beside him. Man, now that I think about it, I really liked all of these people (except Mark and a few more). But man.
Recently i became friends on facebook with a guy i studied in France with. His name was Marcello and he acted as the Italian playboy in every situation (in class, where his answers in discussion circles typically involved sex and hash; at bars; in the dorm; at meals). He put some pictures in an album that are all old and from that year and it really threw me to see all these people's faces together again, if only through a computer screen.
I'm not in any of the pictures, which is fine, because usually I avoided going out at night with him and his little group. All of us were reasonably close, that is, more or less separate from the French students unless we made a point of going out with the French, but he and his were too much. Below is the only picture where i thought i saw myself. I wore a lot of outfits that combined teal and Carolina blue, and i got coffee a lot in that cafe, so i thought, hey, maybe i am in one! But no, it's one of the Spanish girls. To her right is Mark, from Australia, who was drunk all the time--even in yoga class, even at 9:00 exams. At the far left are Paolo, Thomas, and Sebastian, who are great guys. I miss them.
Here's another one. Marcello is on the left. Ross and Thomas are beside him. Man, now that I think about it, I really liked all of these people (except Mark and a few more). But man.
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