A fat white schmuck walks to the dumpster, on a gray
morning as winter approaches. You wouldn’t notice me if you
saw me, but if you did you’d assume I’m grumpy.Everyone assumes it. Grumpy is my
default setting. From years of grumpiness, It’s etched into my face even in a better mood.

Can’t deny it this morning, though: There’s a
whole lot of stupid in the world, and I rarely rise above it, and today I’m not trying.

Can you read this?

On the sidewalk between the building and the
trash bins, there are some ugly chalk marks. I’ve rarely seen the neighborhood kids, but in the summer
months there are sometimes doodles on the sidewalk. Kid stuff — chalk arrows and stick-people,
occasional words, or some 2000s variant of hopscotch.

There are a few words on the sidewalk, but they’re
upside-down to me. The trash is heavy and the bag is in danger of
ripping, so I don’t stop to read whatever’s written, until I’m returning
from the bins with my hands empty.It’s faded, like the words were
drawn the day before the day before yesterday. It’s been bleached by the sun, but squinting and cocking my head, I think it says, “HELLO NEIGHBORS YOU ARE LOVED.”

And I roll my eyes. Is chalked encouragement supposed to be helpful, amidst COVID and
economic ruin and climate change and Donald Trump and everything else
that adds up to such a shitty 2020?

Well, it’s not helpful, ya darn kids… Just a bunch of childish rot on my way back from the rubbish
bin, but … but I guess it doesn’t hurt. Maybe it’s kind
of sweet, if it was chalked by some especially naïve 5-year-old.

It makes me crack a slight smile, and what d’ya know, I’m not as
grumpy as a few minutes ago. I walk back to take a second look,
and to take a picture. Maybe it’ll make you smile a little, too.

11/7/2020   
Republished 4/9/2024