At the Bite, we were sitting on the edge of the fountain, chowing down, when a pair of local youth approached us. One was holding out a Frisbee with some coins collected in it. The other had her hands pulled inside her sweatshirt sleeves and was holding on to a fork with each. Her accomplice explained that she'd lost her hands and that if we could spare even one single cent to help her obtain prostheses, our help would be most appreciated. As she was bewailing the pathos of lacking opposable thumbs, I saw my opportunity. I volunteered the skewer from the chicken I'd just eaten, which was the same thickness as the tines on the forks. She went dancing around shouting about her new thumb, while I fished out a penny and dropped it in the Frisbee. And they went on their way.
Then, after the Mah Jong show, I was walking down the Avenue back to my car when I passed in the opposite direction to a bunch of people carrying what looked like flyers, giving one to each person they met. When they passed me, I dutifully took one, and noticed that it was oddly creased. It turned out not to be the ballot initiative literature or the Christian proselytism I expected -- instead, it was the transcript of a game of paper telephone. You know: first person writes a sentence, second person sees only the sentences and draws a picture of it, third person sees only the second person's picture and writes a sentence description of it, and so on, alternating words and pictures around the circle. This particuar one managed to get from "When I was a kid, my momma wouldn't buy me shoes. I had to wear cracker boxes on my feet." to "The Olympics brought out the amateurs and profesionals alike. Shari just used her hips to sway with the crowd's shouts of joy and admiration."
I love this town.