Friday night.

So what are you doing?


Or are you too pooped to pop?

I ran into an outrageous woman on the way home.

Oh my.

Talk about self centered and off kilter.

I thought I had met Blanche from the Streetcar.

You know the one:  The Streetcar named Desire.

Oblivious to reality.

How in the world do these people survive?

Oh yeah.  I almost forgot:  They rely on the kindness of strangers.

They can’t carry on a conversation about much of anything, unless, of course, it somehow involves themselves.

So damn boring.

And quite amusing.

This older guy who buddied up to the pseudo Blanche, seemed completely enraptured by the attention.

Of course he would.  He is at least 30 years her senior.

Poor thing.

He probably thinks she is in love with him.

Hello Stanley. You crazy lunatic.

I guess you exist, even today, in Pennsylvania.

And so do I, the Chicken Butt, observing the night scene, while I waited for an order of cheesy garlic bread.

And so, on this Friday night, on Sept 23, the movie never ends.

It goes on and on and on and on.

Until tomorrow,






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