Date: Monday, November 11, 2002 2:31 AM
I was shopping at Sunrise Market, as I am wont to do when I need food, which is usually, so there I was on the outside around the corner, where the food is all marked with a red dot in some kind of ink that just can’t be good for you, to tell the cashier it is old and cheap. I imagine all the undotted peppers and cabbages on the inside look down on their dotty relations, but maybe they don’t, knowing that in the fullness of time they’ll either be chosen by some happy shopper, stolen by a junkie, or end up dotty themselves and so think: there but by the grace of God go I. Maybe. I mean it’s possible, right? Who the hell knows what broccoli thinks?
So there I am, looking at the zucchini of all things and comparing, because you don’t want to get stuck with a limp zucchini and even among the dotty ones there’s still a lot of choice. Just check out the bar at Dick’s on Dick’s at closing time. So I’m checking out the zucchini and someone runs past me at top speed and whips into the side door between the strawberries and the avocados, the one that leads to the meat. And I continue merrily and obliviously shopping along the side, strolling slowly until I reach an impasse: a Filipina, laughing her head off. Really, it looks like she will shake something loose that may be hard to put back on if she keeps it up.
“Did you see?”
“See what?”
“The NAKED GUY! AHAHAHAHAHAHA! He ran in there! HAHAHAHAHAHA! HEEHEEHEEHEE!” and so on.
“Naked guy?”
“Yes, hahahaha,” I think she finds my obliviousness even funnier than the naked guy. “He was all naked and he ran very quickly in the door.”
By this point even the grim and silent grizzled men who sweep up all day around the market are doubled up with their hands on their knees, whooping and hawing and having the time of their lives, or at least the last ten years.
At this point he returns.
THE RETURN OF THE NAKED GUY
Screams of laughter come from the front of the store, as he shoots out the front door and comes back along the side. We are special; we get two showings for the price of one. Well, it is the sale aisle.
As he runs past me he yells, “I’m the Streaker Guy!”
and who could argue with that?
raincoaster 
Boy, you can’t streak anything past Raincoaster.
It’s those powers of perception that have created the sort of posts we see here today.
I heard that the streaker, chagrined by his failure to joggle her from her warm cottony reality, gave up in disgust, but then decided to stick it out for another year.
No doubt Raincoaster’ll have the last laugh, though; by the time she gets it, I mean.
If he sticks it out for a whole year it might freeze and fall off.