Upon reflection, it may not have been the best idea, listening to those voices. But I did, and that is how I found myself at Penn's Landing last night screaming obscenities into the cold, black waters of the Delaware River. The small choppy waves were being blasted by needles of rain. The river was coursing quickly and angrily.
I began my tirade and quickly lost myself. I could have been there for minutes or hours. I could not tell, and the river did not care. After a long time, I was beginning to imagine that I was finally getting through to it, that my voice was being heard in Nature's tumultuous chaos, that what I was doing actually mattered, when a hand touched my shoulder. It was a policeman. He was speaking English without curse words, which sounded alien to me, but he wanted to know if everything was okay.
Confused, I looked at the water and started laughing. I came to my senses a bit, and explained to the cop that this was therapeutic, and cheaper than yoga. I asked him if he wanted to join me. He paused, rubbed his chin, and said "Yeah, what the hell."
Together, we blazed a trail through every horrfiying profanity we had ever heard, and many that we made up special for the occasion. We screamed and flailed our arms in the teeming rain. When we finally stopped, we looked around. There were hundreds of people standing there watching us. Men in suits, ladies with their dogs, bums, joggers, drivers who had stopped their cars, it seemed like everyone.
"Shit!" yelled the cop.
"Shit!" yelled the crowd.
"Goddamn Shitsucking Bastard!" we all yelled in unison.
Then we knew what had to be done.
Restating the Obvious, Briefly
2 weeks ago