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Uncomfortable Silence
Sears Tower elevator, (Chicago IL)
June 12th, 9:46 a.m.

What a marvelous uncomfortable silence! It ranks next to the infamous McClurg funeral, where Roy McClurg’s wife–upon giving her eulogy–said she hoped her beloved would rot in Hades with all the harpies he "boinked." It was uncomfortably silent for 23 minutes!!

While the #4 elevator–which was crammed with tourists, suits, and delivery boys–can’t compare in shock value or duration, it does make up in intensity. When an obese man with an aversion to deodorant entered the elevator on the 3rd floor and announced, "This itching hasn’t stopped for weeks," the trapped throngs pressed themselves against the car’s rear, allowing for maximum separation between them and the itchy rider. No one spoke–much less coughed–for the remaining 87 floors as the itching man continued to itch, riding the elevator to the observation deck. It was glorious! Watch out McClurg, there’s a new contender. :)

Checking Myself Out in a Store Window on My Way to Work
104 S. 3rd (Ganado, TX)
August 16th, 8:32 a.m.

I was sporting ass-enhancing Euro-trash jeans done khaki. Considerably vexed by my early-morning-half-drunk fashion choice, I needed a quick peek to ensure complete package concealment. The naysayers were in attendance. An old woman in a pink housecoat, a greasy t-shirted construction worker and prepubescent Pokemon flasher all slowed, anticipating my move to the window.

Even so much as a head-fake would throw them into suppressed giggles. A full-on stop, primp and tuck was completely out of the question. I stared into the sky-attempting the classic "look there’s Elvis"-then made my move...rotating into a lovely powder blue Victoria Secret’s bra and matching seamless panties. Left vacillating between checking out my broadsword or ladies underwear, I pivoted toward home and continued searching for the King. Good heart, but bad form and poor execution. More bass, less whining emo.:(

Dialing a Rotary Phone at Grandma’s
Waterbury, CT
June 30th, 4:35 p.m.

What a pitiful experience. One afternoon while vacationing at Grandma’s, I listened to a little Pop radio. A particularly slammin’ Macy Gray song came on and the DJ announced that the ninth caller would win free passes to Six Flags. I loved Six Flags! I rushed to the phone, only to encounter a rotary unit. I frantically tried to dial, but my fingers failed on the nines. As the dial geriatrically clickclacked through the tones, visions of roller coasters evaporated. When the numbers finally slid together in, I amazingly got through to the station, but the phone rang interminably–Mr. DJ was announcing lucky number nine. Fuck number nine. Fuck rotary phones. And fuck Grandma too. :(

The Clean Shit
101 Deli and Grocery Mart II (Renton, WA)
June 9th, 3.24 p.m.

After entering the bathroom, I take a cursory look under the stalls. No feet. I’m in the clear. I sit down and begin the basic abdominal strain–forcing yesterday’s consumption of pizza and beer from my body. Things are looking up. It feels like a dry run. Before I even finish reading the back of the Lysol canister, I’m done. Rising to my feet, wadding the single-ply budget toilette paper into a ball, I wipe then glance down. It’s clean. An overwhelming sense of joy breaks across me, but I have to make sure. Wipe two: the paper is unmarred and pristine. I toss it into the toilette, flush, and draw my belt. I swing the door open–seeing my reflection in the mirror–a spreading smile of intestinal fortitude, vindication through digestion. :)

Walking Down the Street and Spotting a Beautiful Woman
Main Rd, (Bedford, PA)
August 7th, 10:15 p.m.

I maintain a bad porno sax and 80’s synth playing while I walk. Every move flows to that soundtrack or I end up looking like some sick war-time propaganda film warning against the evils of gonorrhea: "Watch out Jimmy, or you could end up like this poor fellow."

Last week, I ambled fused to the tune. From two blocks away I could see her coming. I cocked my left hip, throwing my shoulders back a touch (affecting a sensitive but not flamboyantly gay tonal blend). We intersected in front of the display case at Cessna’s meat market. She spied our reflection–my smile intermingled with myriad meat products and grinned. The final verdict: with moves like that your dick’ll never dry! Fantastic! :)

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