Rolled-up Pair Of Socks Revisited

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp… Walking to the shop. It’s good for me, it’s good for me…

            This avenue is like some kind of creative vortex for me. Inspiration found, observations… And, toward the top, a twenty-percent grade.

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…It’s good for me, it’s good for me…

            A lot of litter to look at, in some yards, and on the sidewalk, but, halleluiah! A lawn has been mowed. Along with all the litter.

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…It’s good for me, it’s good for me…

            But, odd, I feel like my roots are here, a half a mile away from where I live. If I’m ever sheltering in place, just put me on a treadmill and throw junk at me. Enough of that, and I’ll be inspired enough to write my own East Of Eden. But with squirrels.

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…It’s good for me, it’s good for me…

            …there it is again! But, this time, in the middle of the sidewalk. A rolled-up pair of socks. (Male.) Textured, brown, fluffy winter wear. Two days ago, it had been on the lawn!

            Tromp…Tromp…

            They were probably lost during a student move. I’m closer to the campus, and school ended recently. Bounced right out of a basket while it was being carried, probably. Rolled-up socks can bounce, as we’ve all learned during sock-fights.

            Tromp.

            No wagon, no little horse with his opinions, just a guy who has freshly emerged from the food desert on a warm Spring day, and is now grinning down like a Muppet at a pair of socks.

            It popped out of a bag or basket, and the young man saw it, and he uttered a dismissive expletive phrase which I won’t divulge, due to the 15 rating.

            I’m no Norman Mailer.

            Tromp…Tromp…

            The student’s now in North Dakota, helping on the ranch. Or, in Georgia, putting a dent in the kudzu.

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…

            It had been the social whirl, and…concern about grades! Maybe extracurriculars. But, there were no extracurriculars for me. For me, it was CONCERN! about GRADES!

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…

            What is the world coming to? Abandoned socks all over the place. But, seriously, the students are ok. They’re healthier than in the past. Perhaps with the occasional lapse. Prerogative of youth. Like, a buncha of Frosted Flakes, in a big ol’ bowl. Something that I shouldn’t do as often…

            Tromp…tromp…

            Or, maybe he abandoned the socks! At the junior level, you can wear shoes without socks, and then restrictions return for Master’s and PhD candidates. (Then, they're only for Theatre, Graphic Arts, and the bolder ones in medical school. Oh! And Clarinet.)

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…

            What a waste of sock, though. There are so many feet in the world. But, to pick the socks up? Goodness, no. Rolled-up doesn’t necessarily mean clean. Besides, it would be looked upon as strange, and it’s bad enough that I’m out here, in front of everybody, using my legs.

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…It’s good for me, it’s good for me…

            Live and let lie, I guess.

            Tromp, tromp, tromp, tromp…

            (At this point, I pretend that I live in San Francisco. That gets me over the top.)

            …It’s good for me, it’s good for me…

            But, how did the socks get from the lawn to the middle of the sidewalk?

            Tromp…tromp…

            Perhaps a helpful raccoon.