so, yesterday, i was driving through birmingham, and i stopped at macdonald’s. inside, i saw a man giving his order, wearing black pants, pointed cowboy boots (complete with silver tips), and the classic fringed jacket. major amounts of fringe.
at first i thought “he’s weird” and couldn’t look directly at him. i also saw the girl behind the counter look at him this way. then i remembered “hey, i wear flowered shirts sometimes: do i want people looking at me that way??” and “hey! he’s not weird! he’s just being unique, like i wish everyone had the courage to be..” wow. so many voices…
so, i tried to look him in the eye when he passed by me. (he wouldn’t look at me… maybe he thought i was weird…)
a minute later, i was filling my drink, and he was sitting right there. so i thought “i need to see what’s his story about that jacket”. so i said “nice jacket” (brilliant, i know). i couldn’t lie and say i liked it. i didn’t. but, to some, it is a nice jacket, so, it was true. he said shyly “thanks”. . . . awkward moment. . . . so i said “where’d ya get it?” (again, brilliant)
he said shyly “a western store on the internet”
what? that’s no story! that’s not even the slightest bit interesting! he’s as boring as i am! what’s the deal?
i said something like “cool”, and walked on, realizing that he was shy and he just wanted to eat his grub (that’s what cowboys call it, right?)
i smiled, and thought “that’s the story: that there is no story”
but, i started to realize that, sure enough, even though i didn’t get through to it, that dude does have his stories. some good, some rough. some happy, some tough.
just like the people we meet on the streets every week, don’t ya think?
eh
p.s. i secretly like some fringed jackets. (not secret anymore; it’s out there on the ‘net)