Sometimes you don’t know what to say.
Walking with Nadine to work yesterday, a young man, maybe 27, hurried past us as we crossed the bridge over the river.
It was raining, but he wore only a knitted cardigan and jeans with the bottoms turned up in a manner I personally haven’t seen since 1993.
I’d never make fun of someone for what they were wearing.
But I would make fun of someone for walking like they think they’re important.
His legs were moving fast, but the steps were short. He kept his knees turned out to the side so no one could sneak up on him from behind, and his arms swinging to distribute the smell of too much aftershave fairly.
Well.
Myself and Nadine shared amused glances. I can’t tell you what Nadine was thinking, but I was busy working on several absolute zingers for when he bosswalked out of earshot.
And then…
And then he bent over in front of us.
In the rain.
And picked up a lump of bread, about the size of an eyeball, which some previous pedestrian had dropped on the street.
We followed. We watched. We bated our breaths.
Arriving at the end of the bridge, he deposited the bit of bread on a wall and passed out of view and into legend.
My zingers turned to ash. He had left me with nothing to say.
I only had questions.
If you have any idea what the hell we witnessed, please let me know.
All I can think, is that perhaps – it’s a long shot – but perhaps Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter had aligned, and he was performing the Ritual of the Bread to ward off death and disaster.
Like on the 29th of March, 1345, when a similar planetary alignment caused the Black Death.
And if you enjoy it, please perform the Ritual of Sharing It With a Friend to prevent more monkey business.
Chat soon,
Morgan
P.S. More Morgan? Get 2 of my books free here: morgandelaney.info/newsletter
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