Summer's just taken its final bow and already I find myself nostalgic for some of its finer points: a ripe, juicy raspberry from the rail trail, the rush of bubbles and zesty refreshment that follows jumping (not diving) into a lake or pool, a worn New Balance sneaker lying on its side along the sunny highway...
Wait a minute......What?!
Yeah. I don't know if this is something that just an overly observant crackpot like me would notice, or perhaps everyone is aware of this phenomenon and it's just one of the many things we don't discuss.
You know what I'm talking about, I think.
Shoes on the side of the road.
Where the fuck do they come from?!
I can't even really imagine the scenario wherein footwear (and it's always just a solitary shoe, never a pair) would be destined to spend its last days directly adjacent to a roadway.
Well, I guess I can imagine one or two scenarios, actually...
Possibility #1: Abandonment Amid Insurmountable Anguish
The dashboard lights in Chad's Chrysler start to flash red in unison, and the vehicle sputters to a stop.
"Aggggh!! Fucking Troy!" he bellows, slamming his steroid-infused fists on the steering wheel.
It's the second time this week Chad has broken down on 787. He cranks the wheel all the way to the right and swings his legs out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. Today, he's stuck on the exit 8 off-ramp coming into Green Island.
"Gotta push," he mutters.
Chad gets behind the gray rust bucket and heaves his body weight against it. The wheels begin to turn. The vehicle moves and then slowly sinks, half astride the shoulder and halfway on the filthy, gravel-strewn grass.
He grabs his Monster energy drink from the cup holder and locks the doors.
Chad doesn't have AAA. In fact, he doesn't even have the money to get his cell phone turned back on, let alone enough cash to hire a tow truck if he could make a call.
He attempts to take a swing from the beverage can, but drops it mid-gulp, dripping radioactive liquid all over his stubbly face and mouth.
"GRAAAAAH!!!" Chad screams, spiraling into a sudden 'roid rage. He kicks his foot into the air, launching a size 9 New Balance sneaker into traffic. Then, he starts running against traffic along the highway, partially shoeless and panting.
He bursts into a nearby Gold's Gym, where he ends up punching a guy on a treadmill and throwing 45 pound weights at people as if they were weightless Gushers fruit snacks.
The abandoned New Balance sneaker sits on the side of the highway, shaking its head.
Possibility #2: Air-headed Reckless Abandon
It's a beautiful September afternoon. Taylor and Jimmy are on their way to 'Toga so they can eat overpriced hamburgers at Circus Cafe and then "get shitfaced" one more time before the summer ends.
Taylor is admiring her blue-painted toenails, positioned prominently on the dashboard. Damn, my pedicure looks effing awesome, she thinks to herself with a smug smile.
"Dude!!! Can you believe how, like...AMAZING it is out today?" she asks Jimmy rhetorically.
He turns to her and grins, wrap-around shades obscuring his terrifyingly pale, serial killer eyes.
"I know, babe, it's fuckin' unreal!" he says, leaning back in the driver's seat like a gansta.
Taylor hums along with a Ke$ha song playing on the radio. She just popped a Xanax and she's feeling good; frankly, dealing with Jimmy is SO much easier when she's on meds.
She tosses her head from side to side and and begins fist pumping. "This is my JAM," she cries.
She then transitions into a fist pumping/full body convulsive combo (maybe it's a spasm due to the medication, it's not really clear) which subsequently causes her to thrust her foot out the window. "Weee, hahahah!" she chortles.
The 70 mph highway speed creates a sheering wind, lifting Taylor's Havianas flip flop right off her foot. It sails happily into the breeze, glad to be rid of her.
The sandal lands on the side of the Northway, where it currently lives today with an overweight husband, 2.3 children and a King Charles Spaniel.
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Wait a minute......What?!
Yeah. I don't know if this is something that just an overly observant crackpot like me would notice, or perhaps everyone is aware of this phenomenon and it's just one of the many things we don't discuss.
You know what I'm talking about, I think.
Shoes on the side of the road.
Where the fuck do they come from?!
I can't even really imagine the scenario wherein footwear (and it's always just a solitary shoe, never a pair) would be destined to spend its last days directly adjacent to a roadway.
Well, I guess I can imagine one or two scenarios, actually...
Possibility #1: Abandonment Amid Insurmountable Anguish
The dashboard lights in Chad's Chrysler start to flash red in unison, and the vehicle sputters to a stop.
"Aggggh!! Fucking Troy!" he bellows, slamming his steroid-infused fists on the steering wheel.
It's the second time this week Chad has broken down on 787. He cranks the wheel all the way to the right and swings his legs out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. Today, he's stuck on the exit 8 off-ramp coming into Green Island.
"Gotta push," he mutters.
Chad gets behind the gray rust bucket and heaves his body weight against it. The wheels begin to turn. The vehicle moves and then slowly sinks, half astride the shoulder and halfway on the filthy, gravel-strewn grass.
He grabs his Monster energy drink from the cup holder and locks the doors.
Chad doesn't have AAA. In fact, he doesn't even have the money to get his cell phone turned back on, let alone enough cash to hire a tow truck if he could make a call.
He attempts to take a swing from the beverage can, but drops it mid-gulp, dripping radioactive liquid all over his stubbly face and mouth.
"GRAAAAAH!!!" Chad screams, spiraling into a sudden 'roid rage. He kicks his foot into the air, launching a size 9 New Balance sneaker into traffic. Then, he starts running against traffic along the highway, partially shoeless and panting.
He bursts into a nearby Gold's Gym, where he ends up punching a guy on a treadmill and throwing 45 pound weights at people as if they were weightless Gushers fruit snacks.
The abandoned New Balance sneaker sits on the side of the highway, shaking its head.
Possibility #2: Air-headed Reckless Abandon
It's a beautiful September afternoon. Taylor and Jimmy are on their way to 'Toga so they can eat overpriced hamburgers at Circus Cafe and then "get shitfaced" one more time before the summer ends.
Taylor is admiring her blue-painted toenails, positioned prominently on the dashboard. Damn, my pedicure looks effing awesome, she thinks to herself with a smug smile.
"Dude!!! Can you believe how, like...AMAZING it is out today?" she asks Jimmy rhetorically.
He turns to her and grins, wrap-around shades obscuring his terrifyingly pale, serial killer eyes.
"I know, babe, it's fuckin' unreal!" he says, leaning back in the driver's seat like a gansta.
Taylor hums along with a Ke$ha song playing on the radio. She just popped a Xanax and she's feeling good; frankly, dealing with Jimmy is SO much easier when she's on meds.
She tosses her head from side to side and and begins fist pumping. "This is my JAM," she cries.
She then transitions into a fist pumping/full body convulsive combo (maybe it's a spasm due to the medication, it's not really clear) which subsequently causes her to thrust her foot out the window. "Weee, hahahah!" she chortles.
The 70 mph highway speed creates a sheering wind, lifting Taylor's Havianas flip flop right off her foot. It sails happily into the breeze, glad to be rid of her.
The sandal lands on the side of the Northway, where it currently lives today with an overweight husband, 2.3 children and a King Charles Spaniel.
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