As I was sitting on the 405 onramp — essentially parked for twenty minutes behind a woman whom I had just flipped off vigorously, for nearly sideswiping me as she illegally changed lanes ahead of me — the homeless dude on the side of the road started rotating the signs he was holding. For the cars ahead of me, including the She Devil, he held up, “Hey Hot Lady, Please Get Home Safely.”
Then he looked at me. And put down that sign and held up one that said, “NEED WORK.”
My self-esteem really needed THAT hit. As if I don’t already spend enough time wondering why my forehead has to look like a raisin. Kevin snapped a photo of me and Liam passed out on the couch the other Saturday. I thought people generally looked graceful in repose. I looked like I was trying to do calculus. It seems I convey 90 percent of my emotion through my forehead, and now I’m so pleated you could squeeze my forehead and accordion noises would come out. NEED WORK, indeed.