TRAUMATIC FRUIT!

When I returned there was a watermelon sitting on the front steps. Seeing as it had been hallowe'en, naturally I suspect that it is filled with drugs and razor blades. Logically one must distrust random watermelons. They are suspicious. The natural environment in which one expects to find them are supermarkets, front counters, and the backs of pick-up trucks parked on street corners. Not the steps of apartment buildings in the inner city.

Best to ignore it. One intensely distrusts random fruit.

Shan't even carve it into a jack o'lantern.

Which would be a logical act.

A paranoid person would call emergency services to report elements of chaos and anarchy at this point. I am not paranoid. Within reason. That's something I'll let someone else do. So that they are on record with the authorities and might perhaps be deported by ICE during a theatrical Gestapo raid featuring Kristi Noem in tight, TIGHT, designer tactical gear, very Hollywood style, as one expects. Not me. I'm innocent.

Why is this thing threatening me?
I object!

The time shift over the weekend has affected my natural rythm. Normally I wake up a little later on my days off, but today I was up and about and answering the call of nature before the crack of dawn. It was light when I stepped out to smoke my pipe while wandering around the neighborhood. A bit coolish out there. No one outside to scowl at the whisp of fragrant flue-cured leaf fumes. Very autumnal.


Now that I think about it, there is a certain logic to placing watermelons on front steps. This is sloping terrain, if simply put down on the sidewalk it would roll down hill, and perhaps the person walking his watermelon at six o'clock in the morning wished to check text messages on his cell-phone. Or mark his territory at the lamp post. Maybe they identify as a dog?

If so, what kind of dog? In San Francisco that would very likely have to be a French bulldog. Compact, intelligent looking, space alien-like, and suitable for small urban apartments.
Even when running around with a watermelon, logic must rear its head.

Maybe the watermelon fell into their hands when they left to go on their morning run?
How and why does one leave the house with a melon?
There's something wrong here.


This is all very disturbing. Canine-identifying joggers threatening strangers with fruit.
A crisis! Call out the National Guard! We are under attack!
Unknown Venezuelans bearing produce.



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