Bumsickles

It's been unseasonably warm in the tundra these last few weeks, which means an increase in the bum convention near the lot where I park. Last week, for instance, I'm standing at the parking machine, and I watch one break from the pack and start to cross the street toward me. "Don't even bother," I growled at him, glaring over my sunglasses and stopping him dead in his tracks in the middle of the road. "Sorry, God bless," he mumbled back. Yeah, like that makes it okay.

And then today - I'm fighting with the machine, clearly near the end of my rope, and low and behold, Eddie walks by. He's the bum who proposed to me last summer, in case you're too lazy to click the link. "Miss," he calls. "Hey, miss." And stupid me, I'm thinking maybe he's got a thought on how to make the machine work, so I answer. And then he says, "Can you spare some change for me and my girlfriend?"

!!!

I guess the wedding's off.