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Monday, January 07, 2008


UPS is trying to kill me.
Current mood: contemplative
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

They keep asking, "What Can Brown Do For You?"

My answer will always be the same: stop trying to kill me. You think I don't notice, out of the corner of my eye, as you're sliding up into the bike lane, knowing damn well I can't hear you above the roar of downtown Manhattan traffic.
I saw. You think I hop onto the sidewalk to show off? Not bloody likely, I'm inherently lazy, and not trying to impress the hordes that wade the walks like schools of fish.

They must be krill, or plankton, to my guppy, to the car's sharks, to your goddamn whale. Whales aren't supposed to be trying to eat guppies, damnit.

And don't think I don't notice that when you miss me, because I'm on the sidewalk, you slow down, waiting for me to hit that lane again, so you can brake and turn abuptly in front of me.

Brown? Why don't you just start throwing your package bombs out the back, like some sordid mature-audience-only videogame, and get it over with? I mean, if you're not going to respect my request not to kill me, at least kill me with some grace, some style, so that in my casket, I can have my dignity, in the very least (though I'm quite convinced that I've sacrificed even that by wearing a bicycle helmet). Do me a favor, and make it a large package, so I can die, and at my funeral, they can say something truly profound, something that sounds a lot better than:

"He was hit by a big brown UPS truck."

Can you do that for me, Brown?

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