One Boxer Tag
Like a dog I am starting to know the location of every fire hydrant in the neighborhood. It used to be my heart would leap at the spying of an empty space a block ahead but now I just grunt knowingly, to myself, and accelerate before I reach them, not at all tempted anymore by their taunt as an answer to my prayers--a place to park in NYC.
Seeing the street sweeper pass at precisely 9 a.m. I circle the block one more time and pull into a space within site of a door that could be called home. The signs however inform me that I must commit to the residency of my vehicle for another hour and thirty minutes.
And the longer I sit here the more I get to envying the canines on leashes who at least can go to the bathroom, and right on the street no less. I start to worry that my health may suffer, that my evacuation system may become irrevocably plugged if I don't get to a bathroom soon. I see another dog pass, a mutt with a nose cowl on and I call out to him--hey dog, are you counting your blessings?
At 9:43 the sweeper comes rumbling up the street again. I think this second passing is unnecessary. I circle the block and park, three spaces behind where I just was. As the minutes pass the competition will get fierce. If the sweeper comes again it is conceivable that in the time it takes to make another go around the block the professional parkers will drop from the sky into every remaining space. I see a white boxer with mascara running down its eyes. It pauses to piss on a piece of junk in the middle of the sidewalk, a square purple device with a white electrical cord coming out of it. There are black and grey graffiti tags on every side of it and now, at least this one boxer tag.
It is starting to rain a little bit. I call Bill Macy and tell him my problems. He is only interested in making jokes about Sybil Shepard. Seventeen minutes to go.
I wonder if I should take up knitting and if I did would I be any good at it?
I haven't seen a dog in a good while. I expect they are all up on their master's couches, snoozing or watching TV.
How is it possible that only three minutes have passed?
It warms my heart to realize how law abiding we all are, manning our vehicles until exactly 10:30 a.m. I'm going to unplug my devices now and pack up. I am going to exit my vehicle at 10:29. I am a rebel.
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