A Story/A Walk

Last night, despite the cold, I walked through the seedy part of town. I hoped to find a story. At the very least I found some elements.

- A madman styled as Walt Whitman. He has a cult following but is known more for his simple kindness than for his art. He spewed poetry, but I could not discern the words he spoke through his long, white beard. His voice was thin and unappealing. I didn't pay him much mind. I think I was right.

A prophet poseur who, in this part of town, is only speaking the truth.

- What appeared to be an ogre in trackpants. He was laughing--I can't imagine why he was laughing. Drunk, perhaps? Simple in the head? I have only ever been happy when drunk.

Let's trade lives. I advise you never to learn about mirrors. Word on the street is you hold ogre orgies. I'd have to be proper tight for that.

- A possible doppelganger--for a moment I thought it was my Canadian cousin Harry. He was my height and had a bird on his arm. She was raven-haired and old. He was dressed like Dawson, stuck in the 90s. I thought him a decent bloke. I did not hate him though he needed some updating.

The theme is "Rotting in the dumpy part of town." I'll write it at my estate and hopefully disappear.