A mob of girls scream, "Lezmends. Lezmends. Lez be friends."
Go for a walk and practice ancient art of scangroundformoney. It's good when you have absolutely nothing to do. A whole Zen thing. Could write a book about the science of finding money, would be awesome, but would have to develop a system first. Best spot to look--sewer drains.
The ashtrays outside office buildings are a good spot to find butts. Twenty or thirty good long butts. They take a couple of drags and leave the whole thing. You can find huge cigar butts outside the Cigar Store. You can smell that place a block away. If I was really clever, I would quit smoking. Finding a whole cigarette on the ground is a lucky feeling. One time I found a whole pack of Camels in the rain. They were soaked, so I took them home and dried them on my radiator. Turned out to be one of the best I ever had. I think the water must have washed all the mind control chemicals out. Even when I'm out of tobacco I wouldn't smoke those little brown cigarette cigars. Those things are nasty.
Every time I see a van, alarm bells go off, "SERIAL KILLER SERIAL KILLER." Maybe I watch too much TV.
You can tell things about society from the garbage in the gutter, mostly cigarette butts and used lottery tickets. A lot of drug bags. There must be a lot of people doing drugs. If you collected all the traces it would add up to a sizable amount of brain damage. And, of course, fast food wrappers. Some people think the street is a garbage can. Ignorant scum. It's not their fault. Their parents were ignorant scum.
The Tao of Garbage Picking, a real religion. Recycling. Save what was lost. A way of life. Sometimes kids make fun. Stupid parents.
Try to walk at least a couple of hours a day for exercise. A beautiful day. Plenty to be grateful for. The lawns are well kept. The trees are varied each in its own way. Sidewalk is slate. An excrescence of hedge blocks the way. Snap the twig. Leave it dangle as a sign. Look over shoulder in case someone says, "Hey don't touch my tree."
Walks can lift depression, but fast walks create road rage. A car pulls out of the driveway and blocks me. He didn't time his whole day just to cut in front of me. I should lose it. I should pound on his hood with my full strength and yell, "You son of a bitch!" Pass in front of the big car. If he floors it, I'll be killed. Of course he'll lie and say his foot slipped, but we'll know the truth. The smell of exhaust sickens. It represents fire, warfare, hell.