Something in the Air

Is that a harmonic convergence in your trousers or are you just happy to see me?

Past the throng of naughty children attempting to knock over street barricades, the redneck rock band playing to the food court, and the red-white-and-blue-suspender-clad vendor hawking old Ventura campaign shirts for five bucks a pop, a gaunt, sour-faced geezer stands propped against a drugstore doorjamb. His eyes hint at something, well, otherworldly. Perhaps the truth behind the recent local peculiarities is more profound than a single week's field work can uncover.

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