I couldn't help myself. I see a man walking in his pajamas and it's like a huge magnet pulling me towards the unknown dangers that might be waiting on that street. And it's a culdesac I could get trapped there. But the dog and I have been back twice since we passed the man walking down the middle of the road with his bathrobe belt dragging behind him.
We saw him both times at his house. The first walk by was Friday. On our way into the foreboding culdesac he sat in a lawn chair, pajama clad, smoking a cigarette. Now that's a normal look to me, obviously he isn't allowed to smoke in the house. We all said, "Good Morning."
Really after just rolling out of bed, throwing some clothes on while the dog bounces off the walls, Good Morning is about all you're going to get out of me. Even if we're related and haven't seen each other in 25 years at old Uncle Ned's funeral, Good Morning is all I have until coffee and a shower. I won't even understand you nor remember what you said, don't even try.
Our second walk into the abyss, today, we didn't see him until our way out. He must have finished his cigarette and he was in the process of putting his American Flag in it's post. Good Mornings were exchanged. And I took note that yes, he was in his bathrobe.
I have deemed him a non-threat and reasonably sane. I think we caught him on an off day when he looked like he had just escape a nursing home walking down the road in his jammies and light jacket. He has the presence of mind to know how to take care of the American Flag. So cut him some slack people.
Now I will attempt to post this. Blogger has decide to screw with that which isn't broken. All my buttons and whistles are cut-off so I'm just guessing at which one says save or publish.
I'm also posting from an undisclosed location. I needed to get out of my office for a few hours and I needed a mocha.