fun police

I was riding through PPG plaza today. It has been a great day. Vonnegut used to quote his Uncle Alex, who, while sipping lemonade on his back porch, would remark 'if this isn't great, I don't know what is.'

That's how I felt today. My pedals spun with synchronicity through the city. The clouds were high and wispy. Everything was flowing, everything was, for lack of a better word, clicking. (Clicking sounds too harsh, too mechanical for the fluidity of the day.)

I was riding through PPG plaza and I saw the same lonesome security guard I have seen on several occasions now. Hands clasped behind his back. Blank stare at the fountain. It is this man's job to prevent people from running, swimming, dancing in the fountain.

Fun Police.

No one gets hurt in the fountain. I mean, not traditionally. Perhaps, but, for the most part, it is pure fun. And this poor man is making a poor man's wage to stand guard over this fountain, and prevent fun. There are a couple fucking dinosaurs noone is fucking with in the plaza. His only possible job is to stop yinzers from frolicking.

And I wonder when this man goes to sleep at night what burdens he carries.