Velociworld

Afternoon Intermezzo

He approached, with hobbled gait (but great sense of purpose), the seven-foot granite monolith labeled Tower Mall. An ancient black man, adorned in begrimed tatters, he wore with utter indifference the raiments of the dispossessed.

Upon reaching the monolith he stood within inches of it, as if reading minuscule hieroglyphics where none existed. Then, with great dignity, and barely perceptible melancholy, he urinated upon it, and the spumescent broth trickled down the sheer granite surface, and puddled at his feet momentarily until it sought its own equilibrium, its own destiny, in the cracks of the granite paving stones.

Due to some odd sense of misplaced decorum he did not untie his ragged sweatpants for the act, but instead pissed directly through them onto the stone.

The security guards were on him in a nonce, and ushered him firmly, but not forcibly, back to the bus station. The broth continued apace downhill.

I extinguished my cigarette, and reentered the building, pondering the strange conflation of events that made these circadian events seem so innocuous.