Don't bring me downnnn, man

Hey, you know that green foam that they use when they're making flower arrangements?

Bizarrely enough, it's actually called "florist foam", what do you know?

Anyways, and I really can't tell you why, at all, but...

I find it extremely depressing.

I'm not kidding, I just look at that shit and I get TOTALLY depressed.

How fucked is that?

Raj

Love this fuckin town

So a couple weeks ago, I'm driving in, at like, you know, 0820 or something, and it's fuckin PISSING down raining

I'm going along by the Water Department there, behind the Technology University.

Pretty busy road, especially during rush hour, and all curvy and shit.
And sure enough this DIZZY bitch pulls away from the curb in her fuckin Camry or whatever, without even PRETENDING to shoulder check, RIGHT in fuckin front of me.
I slams on the binders, of course, and just barely stop in time to avoid bouncing off her back passenger door, as I let loose with a multicoloured torrent of bad language and ill wishes.
Now if that's where the story ended, well, there'd be no post, since that kind of shit happens all the time and don't really warrant mention.

But, just as I screech to a halt, I experience simultaneously, a shove from behind and hear the unmistakeable sound of scooter fiberglass crunching on scooter fiberglass.
Now, note that I've just had about a liter of adrenaline squirted into my system, and am, at the moment, about as close to

as I'll ever be able to get.
So I swing me head around to look over my shoulder, again, with my Friendly Meeting Strangers face, you know

And there's this young university kid there, with his skinny girlfriend on the back of his scooter.
And he looks at me and goes

" Sorry, sorry."

But the thing is he's really sorry, not scared or freaking out or anything.
And then he reaches out and pats me on the fucking shoulder for the love of fuck.
I'm kind of struck dumb.
Because, you know, it wasn't really his fault, could have happened to anyone.
Any fucking ways, I take off, you don't want to be standing still in the middle of rush hour traffic in the rain, with, how does it go, tens of thousands of crazed plastic wrapped celestials headed straight up your behind at 60 to 80 klicks.

But I get to the next light, and the kid's right beside me.
And I look over and he sees me, and I (sort of) smile and hold up my hand and say
"It's OK, it wasn't your fault"
And he grins and nods.
And the light changes and we go.

As Brother Cisco would say, Respect, kid. Respect.


Little fucker.

Raj