There’s this awesome guy in a yellow Corvette who circles the Falls some (all?) nights and, I imagine, pops one giant boner after another as people turn their heads to look at his car. The great thing is, Miklos and Pearl noticed him last year, and the guy still takes the same route around the Falls. He also looks around and around as he drives at an appropriate speed to make sure everyone is taking an envious glance at his high-performance ‘wheels’.
This guy is my new favourite psychology case. He is a simplified version of every other weirdo I observe and decode for my own amusement. His case is so simple. I just imagine him at home slicking a tonne of oil through his hair, wink-and-gunning himself in the mirror and then leaving his big lonely house to take that routine hours-long spin circling the busiest part of town for a while.
If this were Toronto, no one would even notice his car. Niagara, however, is prime envy-breeding/ego-inflation territory for someone like that.
Just when you think you’ve seen it all. People continue to amaze.
Like a 17 year-old kid with an older Ontario driver’s license than my own, trying to buy lotto tickets; when swiped, this card verifies his age at 66 years old. “You look very young for your age,” I say to him, as I advise him to try somewhere else, because I’m not selling him any tickets.
I wish I was as entertaining as these guys. Without all the corruption and weirdness, of course. Then again, that’s what makes it, isn’t it.
All I’ve got is an assignment to write, a nice plant to water, a brand new ukulele, and a song called “Oregon Girl” on the player. Shit luck, I tell you.