“Well,” admitted one ole lackey, “I guess I can find it acceptable to be marginally congenial.”
And now, today’s lesson in the surrealistic measurements and executions of City logic and its unresolved entanglement with unaccounted time: Things must surely be improving, day by day, year by year. Do you notice how few new cars you see immobilized by the highway, but how many older models are so? And, note the dates on headstones to realize how many more of the elderly are in the cemeteries than the young.
I recently ran across an elderly man who was sitting with his head in his hands, and softly moaning. I asked him, “Crying over opportunities missed?” “No,” he whispered. “Tears for youthful dreams not realized,” I queried. He shook his head. “Ah, then,” said I, “regrets that life caused you to ultimately abandon your high ideals and made you ‘sell-out’ to the highest bidder in the crass marketplace?” “No,” he groaned, “I was just thinking that HAD life ever noticed me, how cheaply I COULD have been bought.”
Guilt: The ultimate feed-back.
I heard this one on the bathroom wall of that new City joint:
“We’re the boys
who make the noise
to suit our private ends,
and there’s the ass
who rose too fast,
and gave his brain