The Black-toothed Blueberry

Have you seen this guy? Tan, skinny, muttering, wandering aimlessly around the parking lot, waving his arms and nearly bumping into several cars. Chattering a mile a minute, voice heaving upward, peaking, then down like a verbal roller coaster. Voices buzzing in his head, I thought, like so many others. I looked for the telltale black bulge above the ear....but his messy-chic hair hid any sign of a headset. No matter, he was clothed in the latest style, scraggly, baggy jeans, worn bare with expensive faux dirt. Imported, of course. And he looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Was he begging quarters or trading penny stock? Hobo or metro? Upscale or up a creek? That Starbucks cup - cappucino or cuppa change? Either way we should steer clear of him, right? We try not to stare, but he's like a car accident - we simply must look, justified by thinking we may learn something. Do we? In trying to become a classless society, have we instead become a society with no class?

I read once that since every junior high kid was now wearing the baggy 'gangsta' look, the real deal had taken to dressing 'business casual-'
"Yo, 'sup? Stylin' golf shirt. Word!"
"Ese, yo. Nordstrom half-yearly sale. Peace out!"

It's unsettling when we can't accurately judge people by what they wear. At this moment you're judging me on my words - only my words, without the knowledge that I'm sitting here in my underwear writing this. Let that burn your retinas for a while. For bitter or verse.

Don't judge a book by its cover? Don't judge a Republican by his cover, either, or his pages. You can Foley some of the people some of the time, but a Foley and his money are soon parted. And what's a politician without money? Nothing but a bum. We hope.