Long Live The Dead Guy

I don’t know if I was trying too hard yesterday to be the jaded city fella and former newspaper reporter. I think maybe I was trying too hard. Probably.

I mean, it’s not every day on your walk to the subway that there’s a dead guy lying on a bench.

I assumed he was dead. That would explain the white sheet the cops had put over him and all the yellow tape. It would also help explain all the people gathered around looking at him.

I refuse to rubberneck. No matter what. I don’t rubberneck. In my little life I’ve had an adventure or two that have managed to drive that need right out of me. Nothing major or anything, you know, a loose nutball shooting up my college campus, a sheriff’s manhunt, being told on any particular day to run out and photograph a car accident, crazy Elvis impersonator insisting on doing karate for ya, stuff like that. Besides, poor fella. It’s bad enough he died like that, he doesn’t need a bunch of strangers hanging around gawking.

So, I kept walking. What the hell, it’s good blogfodder.