The Tree-Toucher, the Mumbler and the Naked Lady
There was a guy who touched every tree that lined the street in front of my house. He made sure not to miss any trees. He didn’t feel them or caress them, he just touched them. Mrs. Canville, our neighbor, called the police. They told her he had a problem. He couldn’t help it. He had to touch the trees. The trees didn’t die or anything, so what was the harm? One day Mrs. Canville ran out of her house with a broom waiting for the guy who always touched the trees. He saw her. He crossed the street and began touching the trees on that side of the street. Mrs. Canville called him a nut job. He didn’t response he kept walking up the street touching the trees.
There was another guy who walked up and down the street who mumbled so bad that no one could understand him. Everyone avoided him like he was contagious or something. His mumbling seemed mad, as if he were angry about something. My father tried to be nice and replied ‘really, really’ when the guy mumbled to him. Dad said that we should steer clear of him because the guy had a hard life. And he was in a bad train wreck. I guess he was a nut job, too.
There was a woman who lived down the street. She had a big yard with well-trimmed hedges. On sunny days she would lay outside bare-naked. I never saw it but my dad did. He said it was sad. I guess it was sad because she was old and not very good looking. I don’t know how my dad ever saw her naked. Unless he peeked through the hedges but dad wouldn’t do that. Anyway, the police had to talk to her. They reminded her about all the kids in the neighborhood. And they reminded her that the guy who always touched the trees walked by her house, and so did the guy who mumbled.
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