On my Break

Today I took a 40 minute break and went for a drive. Driving can be fun. I like to think of it in the same respect as probably the pioneers would have if they went on a leisurely ride through hilly pastures, you know, maybe with their pioneer-wife, or whore they ran off with after a drunken visit to the mining-town saloons. If they were with the wife, the couple would gallantly gallop to a fresh Spring meadow, lay out the table cloth, and they might engage in a picnic. If the pioneer were with the whore, though, the two might engage in a forced-three way with a toothless backwoodsman.

My drive was 35 minutes, down Adams off 10th street, through a residential area past 30th street, then on to Thunderbird Lane, north to Kisiwa/Kansas Avenue, then out north on Plum Street as far as 82nd, and then I made a loop and came back to work. I was alone in this excursion, and I entertainment myself with the iPod. Sometimes I feel inclined to jet, or leave a certain place and drive around, then come back. I'm an advocate for driving.

As I came back, heading south on Adams, I made a left at 10th street. At the time, I was listening to Race Car Ya-Yas by Cake, full blast, of course, and with the windows down. A mom and her daughter were outside, the mom up by her house or shanty from the look of things, and the little daughter, about 5 or 6-years-of-age, riding her bike on the sidewalk. I completely forgot the lyrics for that song are:


The land of race car ya-yas. The land where you can't change lanes. The land where large, fuzzy dice Still hang proudly Like testicles from rear-view mirrors.


As I passed the little girl, I thought: you know, my music is just loud enough that she could probably hear it very clearly as I pass her. And then in the song, the words like testicles from rear-view mirrors were sung. And then I couldn't help, but think: did that little girl hear the word testicles as I passed her in my car? I took a glance in my rear view mirror, and it's kind of hard not to think she did hear the lyrics because when I looked back, her bike was on the ground, as though she threw it down as she fled to her mom, screaming, "Mommy! Mommy! Testicles!" She had ran from her bike on the ground and had ran to her mother, I'm oblivious to what apriority the girl expressed as she ran back to mom.

Thinking back on it, this isn't the first time a child has ran from me, or been frightened by me. I frighten kids. It's the reason why I don't like kids, that and screaming. I had to talk to a little kid one time visiting a co-worker's house. I didn't know what to talk to her about. I asked how she was doing, and she said fine. And I nodded my head, and looked off in the distance. Why did I look off in the distance? Maybe hoping out of the blue, somebody, another adult, would come up - definitely not another kid; one kid is enough, I don't need two to be awkward around. I then asked if the little girl had gotten any new clothes for the new school year; school was just around the corner, and it was only, at most, a week away. And I thought she'd be in to clothes; she was a second-grader, I think. She said she got a new dress and some shoes. I said FUN! I then commented on her dress she was wearing that day. It looked new, and I thought perhaps this was the new wardrobe she had gotten for school. I told her her outfit looked cute, thinking she'd like that. And then she ran away. And here I thought we were having an absolutely engaging conversation. Why do people make you meet their kids like the tykes are adults? And then to leave me alone with the little person...what the fuck are you expecting us to talk about!? Exit strategy? The plight of the newspaper business???