Every Picture Tells A Story

It is a little after eight am on Sunday. I’m cutting through an industrial part of town. All the businesses are closed, there’s no one else moving here except an occasional guard dog.

They’ve Got No Reason To Be Here

This is my brother's favorite movie (Cover via Amazon)

Something catches my eye and I look up. About a dozen balloons sail by not far overhead. A few fly alone, the others sail clustered. I look back at the road, then back up to make sure I saw what I thought I did. I did.

What is the story here? There must be a story, but there’s no one around to tell me how a dozen balloons got into this part of town. No one lives here. There are no schools, no churches. They aren’t high enough to have been in the air long.

These balloons have no business in this part of town. To their credit, they are moving like they know it. No lazy drift for these balloons, they’re moving east at a rapid pace and they aren’t looking back.

There must be a story. Every balloon tells a story, don’t it? I can’t stop to find out, I’ve got someplace to be. I drive on.

It Is Fifty Degrees

If towels could talk, I would not listen (Image by Greg Timm via Flickr)

It is still early spring, still a little cool out. A cab comes up a cross street, then turns in my direction. I look at the driver, he isn’t wearing a shirt.

Why? Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? It really isn’t warm out. Even if it was warm, I don’t know what the benefit of driving around shirtless is. No one wants to see that. If I was at the airport and a guy with no shirt on drove up in a cab, I would arrive downtown late. I would not ride with that guy.

I wonder if he is wearing pants. If he isn’t, I hope he has a towel or something on the seat. Actually, I hope he has two towels.

There must be a story. Every vinyl seat tells a story, don’t it? I can’t stop to find out, I’ve got someplace to be. I drive on.

There He Is Again

I make a turn, getting closer to where I’m headed.

There’s a guy walking to a bus stop. I know who he is.

Bus stop. There are no pictures of the real James Brolin that suit my purpose (Image by Jill via Flickr)

The truth is, I don’t know who he is. I know who I say he is. I gave him a name based on how he looked and his status. He has long gray hair and when I first saw him he was homeless. He looks sort of like the actor, James Brolin. When I see him, I always think “there’s Homeless James Brolin.”

I don’t know much more about Homeless James Brolin. He just seemed to appear about a year ago. I’ve never seen him just hang around. He was always going somewhere. The few times I was near him we’d just exchange a nod of greeting. More recently, I’ve seen him going in and out of an apartment. I’m glad to see he’s got a roof over his head.

He gets to the bus stop and starts his wait.

There must be a story. Every bus stop tells a story, don’t it? I can’t stop to find out, I’ve got someplace to be. I drive on.

I Had Someplace To Be

I got there and the people who were supposed meet me there were not.

I couldn’t go back for the ends of the stories. Obviously the balloons were gone and I knew the bus had made it by that stop.

Fortunately, the cab was gone too.

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