Sunday, October 08, 2006

Guest Post from Wonderkiller

I'm in Boston, serving as dutiful arm-candy for Bailey, yo. I'm walking down the street near Copley Square, carrying my breakfast -- a bagel and some sushi, because when I'm on vacation, my breakfast habits become a bit catch-as-catch-can. Anyway, here I am walking down the street when a duck comes driving by. This particular duck is being driven by a large hirsute fellow wearing a horned viking helmet. And of all the people on the street, he gives me a nod and wave as he drives by.

My question is, why does every character on the East Coast seem to feel the need to give me a shout-out wherever I go? Do they somehow sense a kindred spirit or something in me? That's a little alarming, because two weeks ago an authentic DC homeboy shot me a genuine much-love tap while I was taking the kids on a bike ride.

But, damn, it DOES feel good to be a gangsta. Albeit a very white, bald, suburban dad gangsta.


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