Things are looking up!
Everywhere I go, I see people on the street coming to complete stops, pointing at the sky and making all sort of noises that are supposed to denote, I think, awe and wonder. Then they get out their phones and start snapping photos from weird angles. I look up there and there’s nothing but the empty blue expanse. I know what it is now, though: Balloon Festival flashbacks. So accustomed are local people to going gaga over balloons this time of year, that it’s become a seasonal instinct. I suffer the same kind of affliction, only it involves trying to go to places like the old Ritz saloon an Maple Street when there ain’t nothing there. We’re all very, very sick people, when you get right to it.
How to bond with strangers over second-degree burns
I actually managed to get to Old Orchard Beach the other day at a time when the sand was so hot, it was painful to walk on. I haven’t experienced that in many moons. I’ve always found the hot sand dance a terrific way to introduce yourself to strangers. You don’t know that lady on the beach blanket, but then you’re all like: “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m in excruciating pain right now. Do you mind if I stand on your dog?” and then you’re friends for life. Or you get beaten about the head with a beer cooler. Either way, something interesting is going to happen.
It ain’t fair to the starfish
I’m a little miffed that Old Orchard Beach still charges people to use that restroom closest to the strip. And they wonder why so many people toddle out of the bars and head straight to the underside of the pier to do their business? If they don’t do something to relieve the problem soon, OOB’s most famed attraction will be officially known as “The Pee-er.”
Weren’t the Perseids just beautiful?
Just kidding. I didn’t see any damn shooting stars. I even went to the deepest, darkest corner of Buckfield to watch the “meteor shower” in the middle of the night, but do you know what I saw instead? Bupkis, that’s what. A heaping helping of Buckfield Bupkis. To be fair, though, the Bupkis in Buckfield is the finest in the world.
Invasion! The horror! Many may die! A gargantuan rubber ducky has appeared in the waters of Belfast and nobody knows how it got there. This is like something that Peter Benchley might write in his doddering years, but I don’t think we can ignore the threat to the public here. A giant duck is bad news because we all know (from the incident) that ducks can get mean. Someone better come up with the biggest wads of bread they can find and start flinging. We’ll work in shifts. You go first.
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