I feel like it is my responsibility to fill everybody in. Fletcher went a little crazy marking his territory yesterday, so to avoid such a statement again, I figured I might as well just tell you that a lamp post, a potted plant, and a garden gnome on North 25th street are all the property of Fletcher, the Australian cattle dog.
I’ve started a habit where I just shove carrots in my pockets and eat them throughout the day. It was during one of these periods that I walked into a convenience store following the daily Fletcher/Macy rodeo. The woman behind the counter was older and spoke with an accent I did not understand. As she handed me my bag, she casually glanced out the window and saw a man parking a large, creepy van across the street.
“So…that’s vhat he looks like,” she growled.
The accent was something in the middle of the Eastern Hemisphere, but she pronounced her “O’s” with a Philly nuance.
It sounded like she was doing an impersonation of someone else every time she said “so” or “over.”
She went on to explain how this man had been parking his van in front of her store, blocking customers, and costing her business.
“He goes to City Hall, vonce a year, and pays 50 dollars for a license to allow him to park there. I do not like to get in people’s face, but I write him a very nasty note next time…”
I stared, wide-eyed, at her story, the crunch of my pocket-carrots being chewed the only audible sound.
“…and he will regret it.”
I looked at the van. It had a very un-gentlemanly bolt lock on the back door.
“He’s basically got a license to kill,” I replied.
She nodded. ”Yes. And the spineless man will not come in here. He will not confront me.”
Smiling, she handed me my bag. ”He is wise not do this.”
I tried to smile back, but was concerned at what sort of whimper would come out of my mouth if I made any sort of adjustment.
“Thank you,” I said, and walked out of the store.
She stood at the front window and wrapped her sweater a little tighter around her shoulders. I tracked down my bike and realized I had gone out to get stamps but was going home with a plastic bag full of Guinness.
Don’t talk to strangers, kids.
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