I encountered two interesting boxes yesterday.
Box #2: Sitting in Union Square park with goodfriend Adam Rokhsar, there came a man with a shoebox. Shortly after sitting, the man opened the box and peered inside and kept peering and peering. Fascinated, Adam finally snuck a peek inside the box and insisted I do so too. It turned out there was a baby bird of some sort in the box, looking unevenly feathered, ugly but still unbearably cute. It was delightful. Adam and I were struck by the fact that we had come upon two such interesting boxes.
Box #1: Upon exiting work, goodfriend Adam Rokhsar and I came upon a baffling scene. There on 34th street itself, near the curb, was a woman wearing a t-shirt and very short shorts, too short for the weather. She was young, barefoot and covered in blood, mainly around her midriff. Standing a good 10 feet away from her on all sides were paramedics and police officers, seemingly not daring to get any closer. The woman was holding, at midriff level, a shoebox. What was in the box? Was it an organ? I don't know. Adam and I just kept right on going.
I related these tales in reverse chronological order because I find Box #1 more interesting.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Two Boxes
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1 comments:
Well, the only thing that would keep them away from that lady would be physical danger to themselves.
They're not afraid it's a bomb, or they'd be further away. They're not afraid it's a gun / knife, or they would have drawn their weapons.
They're probably concerned about the lday's mental state. Her postpartum mental state almost certainly. So your two boxes have a bit of literary contrast value with one another. And we'll leave it there for the purposes of this comedy blog.
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