Monday, June 13, 2005

AFTER EVEN THE DUCKS FAIL YOU

When I was pressing my face up against the glass to get a better look at the taffy puller, this guy on the other side who was wearing a white apron with what looked like florescent blood smeared across his paunch leaned over and tapped the window ferociously.

“Don’t press your nose up to the glass!” he said. It was a funny kind of scold, like I was a poorly attended to four year old.

Despite my resentment, I bought a half a punt of taffy, which I ate on a bench along the boardwalk and did my best to calculate the ratio of seagulls to rollerbladers.

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