The Crazy Bench

There's a bench across the street from my office where all the homeless people camp out to sing, preach, beg and play instruments. However, they all seriously suck at playing their instrument of choice. I mean, you're homeless, there's no place for you to go, no house for you to clean, no one to pick up from school or camp or practice, (and let's face it, I'm pretty sure your to-do list isn't very long... 1.Eat 2.Beg 3.Sleep 4.Repeat)<---I'm fucking Dr. Suess over here... (I mean, not actually fucking Dr. Suess because he's dead, I'm pretty sure, and it would be gross to fuck a dead guy, I just mean that I'm awesome at rhyming) the least you could do is learn how to play your ONE instrument decently. Is it too much to ask?!

Anywhoo... I work on the second floor, and when I look out my window and across the street, this is what I see. Today at work, I went crazy. Crazy like goofy, hyper, annoying and needy. So I decided instead of risking my career, I'd go join the crazy people on the bench for a bit. However, I got out there, and no one was there.

I know, totally not a flattering picture, but I have a point here...

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
"What the FUCK is up with her hand?!" I decided the crazies were channeling my hand and took it over.

In the end, the bench worked. After 5 minutes I moved from the sun to the shade, then 15 minutes later I stood up, leaving the crazies behind, and headed back up to the office. So maybe it's not the homeless' fault that they are crazy. Maybe they catch it from the bench (I left my crazy there, so someone's bound to pick it up, right?), maybe it's the bench's fault.

Aw, who are we kidding, homeless people suck.