F@%K!
I went running the other morning and left my ipod behind. I was looking forward to running sans music, as I used to do in my more spartan younger year. Also, the touch wheel (is that its real name?) on my ipod is currently not responding to my touch. I am therefore unable to listen to any other music beyond the 12-15 songs within the last playlist to which I opted to listen before the touch wheel went to pot. And while I am usually a huge advocate of heinously overplaying music, even I have my limits.
In the end, I am glad that on this particular day I chose not to listen to my latest greats just one more time, because man oh man- what an open air treat my ears had in store for them!
I was about halfway around the loop in Prospect Park, with Grand Army Plaza being my entrance point. It was a pleasant, albeit humid, morning; the sun was out and the birds were chirping and the park was luscious, green, and ripe with running activity. All of a sudden, out of the blue and green there came a vulgar, hate-filled shriek: “Yeah, why don’t you go F@%K yourself!!!”
With saucer eyes and mouth agape I turned to see what the ruckus was all about. And what I saw was hilarious--- a brown Chevy Lebaron suddenly appeared to my right, cruising uphill in the farthest car lane. Its windows were rolled shut. Behind the car was a male biker trailing close behind. The biker used his right hand for handlebar support and the left hand (and this is where it gets precious) he reserved for use towards violently shaking his upturned middle finger at the car up ahead.
F@%King fascinating.
In the end, I am glad that on this particular day I chose not to listen to my latest greats just one more time, because man oh man- what an open air treat my ears had in store for them!
I was about halfway around the loop in Prospect Park, with Grand Army Plaza being my entrance point. It was a pleasant, albeit humid, morning; the sun was out and the birds were chirping and the park was luscious, green, and ripe with running activity. All of a sudden, out of the blue and green there came a vulgar, hate-filled shriek: “Yeah, why don’t you go F@%K yourself!!!”
With saucer eyes and mouth agape I turned to see what the ruckus was all about. And what I saw was hilarious--- a brown Chevy Lebaron suddenly appeared to my right, cruising uphill in the farthest car lane. Its windows were rolled shut. Behind the car was a male biker trailing close behind. The biker used his right hand for handlebar support and the left hand (and this is where it gets precious) he reserved for use towards violently shaking his upturned middle finger at the car up ahead.
F@%King fascinating.
posted by ap at 1:41:00 PM
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