Post by Jack of Blades on Oct 16, 2006 12:26:27 GMT -5
"It is quite a sight to see a fully-grown adult tearing down the highway, shouting inane expressions of joy, in nothing more than a loose night gown. What made this scene even more impressive was the setting. Here was a man, screaming in a night gown down the road during nine am rush hour in New York City. Quite impressive, as you can...as you can probably consider. He seemed to be elated with something, often raising his arms high in the air as if glorifying some deity who had aided his daily life. His gown continued to swing loose with his white underdress peaking out. It was a vest and boxer shorts combination if that really matters. I don't think it does but it's still prudent to discuss such details. It seemed as if his journey down the middle of the road was planned as opposed to being a sponteous act. As if he had pre-empted this, a bustling metropolitan road in the busiest time of the day, to be the place of his exuberant expression of happiness. Nobody could really tell what he was shouting out due to the vast cacaphony of carhorns exploding from behind him trying to rush his journey. The fact his words were slurred and came out with a pitch of fervour did not portray any sort of articulate speaker either. Just a very happy man. He continued to run, without any footwear or even slippers, down the paved road. At this moment, there was a good que of vehicles behind him, slowed and yet shunning him on with their sirens or swears. It seemed to be in the hundreds, the number of cars I mean. Like a trail of bugs following the scout although not freely. He just kept moving down the road screaming with excitement ignoring the harsh chants from the cars behind his trail. He seemed to have chosen the middle lane of the road for maximum impact. The cars down this lane couldn't change due to the other paths being congested and yet, he was free to spread his message to all the lanes without one set of motorized audiences suffering. There were rumours of a SWAT team deploying a sniper to take him out but this probably escalated from gossiped rumours by the excitable populous. Fire trucks were probably being called in but I doubt any red engine would slow him down unless he choose to stop his path. Nobody knew who he was or why he was there. Perhaps he was just some escaped patient of the local mental health arrangement on a high level of lithium. Some saw him as a messiah leading us into a new age through journeying down this congested road reminding us to go against the norms that social heirachies have installed within every newborn. Some said he was a boxer or a wrestler of some variation but such conjecture isn't to be trusted. When talking to someone, a black man actually, I met in a antiquity shop, one that specialised in porcelain dinnerware, he said that the running man, so to say, was his boss but I didn't take this with any heed. He did not seem the type to frequent the antique trade so I was reserved. Yet, he continued to run and continued to shout in the air. Soon after, he disappeared into the latter part of town, away from my stalled position; I begun to talk to a van driver stuck from his deliveries in this proactive jogger's wake. The driver said that all that was known about this man, the jogger, was that he had a newspaper in the pocket of his gown. The headline was that 'Oprah Not Running For The Oval Office.' I don't know what this can tell us."
