Today A. Ybab and Mr. H and I went for a walk. I strapped her to my front and pulled my coat around her so only her foolishly be-hatted head stuck out. This deflects some of the alcoholics who live under the streets downtown, but not all of them. She continues to test well with that demographic, ideally with cross-over to chainsmokers. A few days ago, the lady with a nose ring and three teeth gave her the loving moniker “Sugar Booger.” I am familiar with the booger sugar, but I think that lady probably specializes in methamphetamines in the off-season.
Anyhoo, we ended up walking past lots of people with glow sticks, and then we realized it was time for the city’s annual Salute to Municipal Vehicles, a.k.a. the festival of lights or something like that. We shoved through the crowd and got our lattes, coming out just in time to hear “Ready to roll.” So we had to Frogger our way through a flotilla of police motorcycles, the bookmobile, a taxi cab, every single fire engine in town, a marching band, some Shriners, children dropping batons, the haz-mat team, and the local Rastafarians’ float.
A. Ybab became enraged by the time the cut-suspension Honda Civics and the public works sand truck glided by. We had to bust our way through the parade route to get home, which meant tangling with a postal worker wearing shorts (“Shorts every day. I’m a bachelor. We don’t iron!”) until we remembered we could just float down the canal on an abandoned shopping cart. Level-headed thinking saves the day again!