The Summer Ends

So, there's this boy.

Well, no. That's a misleading way to put it, really.

There's a guy I see on my morning commute. A new guy. And I just want to cut him off on my bike and ask if he's aware of the legal ramifications of accidental drug trafficking because I'd guess they're still pretty severe. I'd like to give him the business card of a local lawyer (which would probably take some research and I don't actually care that much) and wish him a nice day.

But I don't want him to think I'm odd.

I'm like, 82% sure he's a bike messenger. At least, he sort of looks like a bike messenger.



More or less. My Google Ninja skills sort of failed me so this was the best mental image I could come up with. Actually he sort of looks like A-ron but less social and with a chest length beard. Anyway. So obviously it's not like that. Also a bright yellow bike and yellow sunglasses. Standard bike messenger attire, no?

I don't believe there are any bike messenger offices near our place and this guy always goes into a building across from the grocery store. Thus I assume he works out of that office building. And since it's clearly not an actual bike messenger dispatch place and equally obvious that most businesses in the neighborhood are actually drug fronts (except possibly the library) he must clearly be delivering illicit packages. Clearly. And that sort of makes me feel bad for him. And then I remember where I'm going (work, at least for the next few days) and suddenly it looks like he got the better end of the stick.

And as I was recounting this tale of woe to an anonymous coworker, it struck me that I think I remember reading about some bike messengers who did deliver drugs. So case closed.