I-5 ICE CREAM SAMARITAN
You were walking across the I-5 overpass to downtown Seattle gutting a half-pint of Häagen-Dazs with one of those little wooden implements that they plastic-wrap to the lid. A passerby dropped what appeared to be a little black T-shirt? They continued walking up the hill unawares. Without hesitation you scooped up the black thing, about-faced, walked uphill to catch up with the owner, and returned the black thing without fanfare. Your focus fell to gutting your half-pint as you continued on your way toward downtown, the red-and-white bouquet of traffic glowing below you. You earned every last drip of that Dazs, Samaritan.
YOU’RE SHITTING ME
Last Thursday afternoon, you, a gaggle of gray pigeons, were gathered, as you usually are, on the electrical wires above the corner of 12th Avenue and Jackson Street in the International District. As we walked innocently below, one of you shat—warm, thick, green-tinged guano—onto the back of our head. It slid down our hair and scalp. We screamed in horror and continued walking toward some place, any place, with a ceiling, paper towels, and a bathroom. Exactly two steps later, you (or maybe it was one of your companions—one of the most frustrating things about this whole mess was that we never actually saw you) shat on us again, this time hitting us just above our right ear. Just so you know, you filthy bird(s), we were in the midst of an extremely emotional day and we were out walking to take our mind off of difficult things. Your shitting on us—twice—made us wonder whether we should laugh, cry, or just lie down on the sidewalk and give up forever…