Spiffy

So, I got this dazzling new shirt with a spiffy palm tree print at Sierra over the weekend. It’s a beaut. Once you see me in it, you’ll want me to marry your daughter, I’m pretty sure. On Monday, I snatched the thing off its hanger and looked it over for any hanging tags or troublesome stickers that might cause embarrassment down the line. None found. I then jumped on my motorcycle and headed downtown to investigate the latest shooting. FLAP, FLAP, FLAP. Against my neck and down under my armpit came flapping sounds that made me think the giant moths were back. But no. Somehow I had missed not one, but TWO giant tags sticking out of the lovely, and apparently magic, garment. Had to go tooling around a crime scene with store tags hanging off me. Instead of stammering out an explanation, though, I decided to just lean in and make this my thing. Columbo had his trench coat, I got my dangling store tags.

Toucan Sam

I also bought a pair of awesome trail runners that use velcro instead of laces for more precise adjustment on hikes. Only problem is, when I bought these sneaks, the only color available was … well, every color. It looks like I have a couple of !^&@!!@ toucans on my feet when I go walking around in these things. So to recap, tags hanging off my shirt, exotic jungle birds on my feet. If I leave my helmet on when I go walking around downtown Lewiston, I think I got a really unique look going.

Wendy left me alone

Can anybody explain to me why a city the size of Lewiston doesn’t have a !^&@!!@ Wendy’s? All over Maine and New Hampshire, I go through towns so small they don’t even have traffic lights yet there sitting on a corner is a brightly lit Wendy’s, catering to the population of 750. Lewiston? Naw bruh. No Dave’s double for me unless I want to brave Center Street traffic in Auburn. Which I don’t.

I apologize …

For all !^&@!!@ potty mouth here today. I think maybe I’ve not had enough fiber in my diet. Or possibly I’ve had too much fiber in my diet. Tell you the truth, I have no idea about the effect fiber has on !^&@!!@ cussing. And if I want to be really honest, I have no idea what fiber is to begin with, so I don’t know why you brought this up.

Back in my day…

I actually found myself uttering the sentiment “it’s not so much the heat as it is the humidity” the other day whilst chatting with someone about the weather. It’s such an old-timer thing to say that I frantically tried to overcompensate by using all the fresh, hip language I could muster to offset the embarrassment. Unfortunately, all the lingo I know from that scene is “fresh” and “hip,” so it was a pretty dismal effort.

Mark LaFlamme is an award-winning Sun Journal reporter and columnist. He’s covered the nighttime police beat since 1994, which is just grand because he doesn’t like getting out of bed before noon. He is the author of eight published novels and rides a dual sport motorcycle everywhere he goes. Unless it’s winter, in which case he just sulks a lot.