Fail

I've been trying for a while to write about this thing I saw at bumbershoot ("thing" really is the most appropriate word) but I haven't been able to do it justice in my mind. So, you get the crappy version, I fail as a writer right now.

Sitting on Fischer Pavillion, overlooking the stage that will eventually host Golgo Bordello (gypsy punk, gotta love it), we make friends with Mike (local, handlebar mustache, fun guy) and Chloe (canadian, not sure what beyond that). We're having a nice little conversation at a table with two remaining chairs open when a young woman sits down. She's got this little triangle pendant containing a flashing red LED. I joke that it's so that anyone who tries to check out her rack ends up having a seizure. A few minutes later an older gentleman sits down in the chair next to her and within 10 seconds whoomp, hand straight on her breast. He's sort of massaging it around, I think it's a little strange but wonder if I'm the only one who's noticed but then she sort of nudges the hand away. Conversation continues until I look back over (no more than a minute later) and this time it's the old guys face pressed up - nestled one might say - into the younger gals cleavage. There's easily a 200% age difference here. Groping and nuzzling continue for about 15 minutes before they decide to head off to darker locales. Apparently everyone else noticed too since there were audible sighs of relief that the show didn't continue.

So that's the bumbershoot thing. In the time it took me to fail to hammer that out to my satisfaction I saw a guard goose. A house with a plethora of decomposing cars in its front yard was having some work done on it. The dog and her retinue are walking by when a goose sort of jumps out from behind a tree, spreads its wings and honks at us. We pass beyond some trees, thinking that didn't really happen, when he comes charging towards the fence again, trying to head off our sneaky advances. Flapping and honking. A guard goose.