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pond floor tarmac
Wednesday, December 5 2001
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When I walked Sally in the Vale of Cashmere this afternoon, I noticed that the four quarters (and one dime) that I'd thrown upon the muck in the fountain pond were all gone. As Sally was quick to demonstrate, the muck had hardened to a tarmac-like firmness, capable of supporting pedestrian traffic without accumulating visible footprints. I was actually rather surprised that only four days had passed before the quarters had been discovered. A smarter person would have replaced them with quarter-sized metal disks and been rewarded with another quarter tossed by me today. But since it's clear they've been discovered, my experiment is now concluded.
I'm growing increasingly familiar with the sorts of detritus left in the urban forest by the humans who frequent it, mostly black Carribean gay men. There are, of course, the many condoms, condom packages, and instruction sheets on the proper application of condoms. Then there are the crumpled brown bags containing empty 40 oz. malt liquor bottles. Interestingly, there are very few cigarettes or cigarette packages; these men are evidently not, by and large, smokers. Hidden under some bushes one can occasionally find "queen kits," allowing the mild-mannered Clark Kent to duck behind a tree and emerge as a flaming Superman.
More recently, I've also noticed a particularly disgusting artifact of the forest cruising scene: white napkins besmirched in the center by a crumpled stain of brown. I call these "reamer sheets," since they appear to have been used to make assholes more presentable for those who like to poke them.
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