Vote day

The days back to work haven't been as horrible as I had thought they would be which makes me worry that I am missing something.

I type this at an outside table overlooking Boston Harbor. It is the eighth of November and it is sixty six degrees out. People are out and about which means that I cannot look up porn. I think the dirty bits of the Internet are blocked at the moment anyway.

I think that there are too many people walking by my table so I move to another. Humans haunt me.

I look out over the harbor. I watch people go by. A gentleman approaches me. His is well dressed. He carries a stack of small newspapers. He stands close to me.
He shows the papers and states that these very papers help the homeless. The papers are copies of the Spare Change newspaper.

I tell him him that I am not interested.

He continues with something about it being difficult as the cold weather approaches.

I shake my head, no.

He doesn't want to give up on me but he spots easier prey, an older heavy set woman who most likely lives in the suburbs, and leaves my table. She states that she doesn't want the paper but will give him a dollar.

She starts to look in her purse and then states that she only has change. I cannot see the change change hands but I can hear it. It was maybe a dollars worth.

Babies and dogs and tourists are what I see.


...

I wonder why it is that when I shave her legs, it is an act of devotion but when she shaves mine, it is an act of ownership.

...

I sip from my Starbucks green ice tea.

I watch a group of three amateur photographers taking photos. I look to where they are shooting. I am not too impressed.