I Usually Eat Mine, But…

Chicago, being a big city and all, often carries with it a reputation for being populated by Weirdness.  But in spite of the cliché that the weirdness comes in a creepy version (homeless rapists, money-crazed drug addicts waiting to shank you at every corner), I’ve found that, more often than not, it’s a harmless kind of weirdness, and it’s not usually found where you might expect, as indicated by my experience today:

 

It was about four thousand below zero, and I was walking down Clark Street on my way back from meeting Catherine for lunch when I passed a man who caught my attention. 

 

He was no different than most of the business men who hustle through the Loop on a constant basis, and I never would have noticed him under normal circumstances.  He had the build of Alfred Hitchcock, with an oblong, bald head and a blank, stoic expression.  Great clothes – obviously someone who has placed the right bets more than once, if you know what I mean.  But for all of these mundane aspects, these were not, in fact, normal circumstances.

 

Because this man was combing a scone.

 

Now, hear me – when I say combing, I mean with a plastic comb, the kind that costs like eighty cents at Walgreen’s.  The hair kind.  And when I say scone, I mean the delicious, complimentary-to-any-time-of-day-or-place-or-moment-in-time-especially-the-cinnamon-chip kind.  He was holding the scone centered in the palm of his right hand, like it was a snail or a Mogwai or something, and combing it with his left hand.  At first, I thought to myself, now wait.  He’s picking something out of it.  That makes sense.  Maybe he doesn’t like raisins, or chocolate chips, which would be nuts, but whatever.  No counting for taste, except…no.  He was combing it.  Like a head of hair.  Smooth, even strokes, like a teenaged girl might do while gazing into a mirror like in awkward old magazine ads.  A fine, barely-perceptible pastry dust scattered to the wind as he walked and combed his dessert into non-existence. 

 

And this, my friends, is why I love Chicago.

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~ by thismarriedguy on January 26, 2009.

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