In any given week, there is a good chance that we will go get tacos from our favorite inauthentic Mexican chain restaurant. The fastest way to drive to this taco place (actually owned by McDonalds) is to take the shortcut which winds through a warehouse district, by the schoolbus parking garage and an inexplicable goat cheese market. There is a sidewalk along this deserted street, and I've often wondered if many pedestrians promenade along this not-so-picturesque route. Then the other day I spotted him. I saw a tall and lean shirtless man rollerskating along the path sporting a luxurious brown mullet, a thick curly mustache and what was certain to become a nasty sunburn on his angular shoulders. He wore cut-off denim shorts which drew attention to his pale skinny legs, making his rollerskates all the more eye-catching. In one hand he held a crumpled up paper bag, and in the other hand he grasped a half-eaten hamburger. Time seemed to stop as he glided past like some sort of a mythical white-trash unicorn, and I've never seen the likes of him, or any other person, on that street since then.
The tacos were excellent.
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