There can be a fine line between tragedy and comedy, like the curious case of this yellow rope (?) discovered on an early-morning jog last weekend.
It's just not the kind of thing you'd expect to find hanging from a third-story window. Except at Alcatraz or in German fairy tales.
Was this flight route or a practical joke? A party marker or a fire escape? Was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick, or a bunch of artists in the studio with too much time on their hands? Was Christo coming for dinner?
The addition of a wiry young guy sprinting past me, shirtless, his parka pulled by bare hands tight at his chest, and vaguely chuckling as he ran toward the train, did nothing to snuff out the mystery. All I know is, next time I went past, the long yellow rope was gone, as was, no doubt, its reason for being there.
It's just not the kind of thing you'd expect to find hanging from a third-story window. Except at Alcatraz or in German fairy tales.
Was this flight route or a practical joke? A party marker or a fire escape? Was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick, or a bunch of artists in the studio with too much time on their hands? Was Christo coming for dinner?
The addition of a wiry young guy sprinting past me, shirtless, his parka pulled by bare hands tight at his chest, and vaguely chuckling as he ran toward the train, did nothing to snuff out the mystery. All I know is, next time I went past, the long yellow rope was gone, as was, no doubt, its reason for being there.
No comments:
Post a Comment