Hair Bag

3 June '04:

Yep...a bag - white paper, like you might get doughnuts in, left enticingly in the middle of my street. Well, not MY street, but my parents' street which is just around the corner and so technically MY street. A dead-end street with only neighborly traffic and the occassional browser. Not, by any means, a main thoroughfare for traffic, motorized or ped-al; a lovely court with upper middle class abodes sporting ginormous SUV's, sprinkler systems and sparkling gutters.

This bag, so obviously incongruous, so lost, so forlorn - an interloper into the realms of the neat and tidy.

"What's in that bag?" I thought as I pulled the mighty Suburban, loaded with a slightly tipsy parent, out of the pebbled driveway.

"Yes, I noticed that on my way home," commented R.J. "I'm hungry. Let's go eat."

"Right," I agree. Stopping the "tank" near the bag, I crawl gingerly down to the pavement. I reach tentatively for the bag's gaping mouth and there I discover.....hair!

(I wish I had a f$%*ing camera!)