Conversations on the Run3

“There’s something cool about donating blood,” one woman said to another.

“Yes, it goes into somebody else,” the other said.

“And then it makes you look intently at people’s eyes on the street to see if you recognize them,” said the first.

 

“It’s a shame paramedics don’t work on commission.”

 

“Do they use real blood in the movies?”

“Yea, just head into the truck that’s parked on the lot.”

“Is it a Red Cross truck?”

“No, a Paramount truck.”

 

“I couldn’t paint yesterday. The moon wasn’t in the right place.”

 

A friend asked a recent immigrant what his first words in English were. “Paper or plastic?” he said.

 

“I’ve outgrown my hair.

 

“It’s sad that the best compliments I get are from a fortune cookie.”

 

“I sunburned my plums.”

 

“I’m the third generation of wandering souls. I’m real good at leaving.”

 

“She’s in love and she hasn’t met him yet.”

Center Stage

People don’t want to be fixed. They want to be loved. They want somebody to listen to them. They long for the spotlight. To be the center of the universe, even if the universe is a family, a club, or an office. There are some who demand a larger stage. They become actors and politicians. Where do these people go when time catches up to them? They write memoirs, of course. They believe their audience still cares. Like Tony Blair. I bought the book. I read four chapters. Yawn. It proves once again that nothing interests people so much as themselves.

Calvin says, “That’s why a dog is still a man’s best friend. We keep the illusion going.”