noise to signal

Today's tactical nuclear slam

There I was, standing on the corner, heading back to our car to meet Miz Becky. To my immediate left stood an older black man in a rather elegant suit — deep brown, with the pinstripes picking up his white hair.

Further to our mutual left was a small knot of late highschool age girls, including one who was doing her best to fulfil the cliché role of the "fat friend", with the bad skin and big hair and a sweater that was about a size too small.

The other classic attribute of that role, of course, is the big mouth, the constant "pay attention to me" rudeness that makes her amusing enough to the "cute friends" to be kept around. And she was working it as hard as she could: "We should roll this shopping cart into the street and scream 'oh my baby!' That'd scare the shit out of someone. Hey, Carrie, didn't you need to go to the bathroom? You hanging out yet? You prairie dogging?" And so on.

Eventually she noticed the sour look on the face of the gentleman in the excellent suit, and saw an opening. "Hey, whatsamatter, you don't like what I'm saying? You think people will see your shit colored clothes? We didn't get any on you, did we?" And so forth.

When she paused for breath, he spoke quietly, never looking at her, just loud enough for us all to hear him:

"Goddamn ugly bitch with a big mouth, gonna spend your life getting fucked, but ain't never gonna be loved."

Stunned silence from the knot of teens.

The light changed.

He and I crossed the street.

They didn't move.