It tells its own story

I went out shopping today after work. It started out with a stop at the bookstore to buy my book for book group on Wednesday (because the hold list is just not going to move quickly enough for me to get it from work), but since I’d found an excellent parking spot on the notoriously hard to park at Whyte Avenue and had paid for my meter, I figured I’d do a little browsing along the way before heading home.

My successes were somewhat limiting, but I had a good time imagining the story that was laid out along the street. The first thing that seemed somewhat out of place was an open bottle of booze, still in its paper bag. The booze itself was not at all out of place on Whyte – it’s well known for its debauchery. (Is that how you spell that?) But the fact that the bottle was still half full was somewhat surprising. That’s a lot of perfectly good booze to waste.

It became less surprising when there were puddles of barf every ten steps for the next two blocks.

Sometimes, life just doesn’t require a narrator.

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One Response to “It tells its own story”

  1. Karen Says:

    Mmmm…Christmas barf (in a Mr. Bean voice).

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