smear on the sidewalk

Today, while walking to the store to buy some lunch and carrot juice — always with the carrot juice, this phase has lasted years and I am beginning to suspect it is no longer a phase but a predilection — I neatly dodged a smear of shit on the sidewalk. I would call it “crap” or “doodoo” or “poop” but its color, its configuration, its flagrant disregard for methods of egress demanded that I call it “shit”. My first thought was: who shits on the sidewalk? This thought was immediately followed by a memory so forceful I giggled aloud. A couple of years ago, FunkyPlaid’s car was stolen. It was an awful realization, standing in front of the house, staring blankly at the blank space. We thought, well,...