Too many sausages. Too much meat. Too much food. That’s how the day began. You need to walk off all the food. You need to amble all over with no plan and just walk walk walk until the food stops your belly from hurting. So that’s what we did. We walked the North Side streets until the red velvet cupcakes and kielbasa stopped slamming our internal organs.

And then we saw you, sir.

Collar up, jive walkin’, comin’ down the street like you never died on a toilet bowl reading an astrology book while Ginger Alden slept in the next room. Yes, we’re sure it was you. Who else could it have been?

“Should I go ask that guy if I can get his picture? I need his picture!”

No, I don’t think so. Shyness.

A block later, they looked at one another and ran to find the man. Gas stations, grocery stores, the general radius. He was not to be found. Their window to capture his soul had been taken away.

The two kids stared up in frustration, bemoaning their loss. And then they saw the street sign. Pressely Street. No shit. No lie.

It was all a little too perfect.

Picture – N
Words – S, but really, it was all true