Imaginary Chihuahua

I guess I'm like a lighthouse. A beacon for all those lost ships. Or maybe I'm just an easy mark. A sympathetic ear. A kindred spirit. Whatever.

Anyway, it seems the people, the strangely gifted ones, the ones the Lovely Carla affectionately refers to as "the nut jobs," are always attracted to me. I could be standing in a crowd and they will zoom in right on me. Pick me out of the herd. Maybe I look like the weak one. Easily devoured.

I guess I sometimes like the feeling of camaraderie. Maybe they will impart some kind of wack wisdom. The Lovely Carla tells me there's no telling where the answers may lie.

Yesterday, one them came up to me on the Red Line train and started up a long rambling rant. I listened, nodded. Acted as if every word was a pearl.

The gifted one, the nut job, looked down at my shoes and then this came out: "You should get a chihuahua. You need a chihuahua. There's all that blood around your shoes. You need protection. Get a chihuahua."

Blood? I looked at my old running shoes. They were kind of ragged, torn and frayed. But no blood.

I de-trained thinking something important just happened.

There's blood and then there's blood. We could be talking about another dimension, another realm. And if there's imaginary, invisible blood, well what's wrong with an imaginary, invisible chihuahua?

Maybe I'll call him Ray...