What is the reason for being? Is it a hand job, a slap across the face, or a fuck on Tuesdays? What is it that makes people want to live? I watch people as I go down the sidewalk, pretending to be God’s psychiatrist. Hmm, the man with the funny hat thinks he’s cool. The girl wears a skirt so short in the fall.  If I look close enough, I think I can see a pubic hair.  She’s cool though, even through those goose bumps. And him, why does he stare at the ground when he walks, what’s he thinking? He’s dressed in black with the chain from his nose running beneath his shirt. Maybe it sneaks down to the treasured nipple.
What does the pothead want to do with her life? Why does the dropout want to be a millionaire?  Why do the trust-fund babies worry about their futures?  Why is it fun to watch cats in bags fall from four stories up?
I asked a man going south on the sidewalk, “So why do you live?”
“To be a physical therapist,” he says.  I ask him what his major is, expecting the obvious answer.  He tells me he’s an English major.  I find some rocks and stone him until he’s gone.  Stupid people, I think to myself.
I see a girl whose greatest ambition is to cut hair.  I see a boy who thinks he has no choice but to sell Jesus figurines for his father, although he never went to class, never did his homework, and failed out of school.  Any idiot could have seen it coming, yet he couldn’t. I talk to a guy who thinks he’s stuck working for the McDonald’s at the airport. He’s jealous of the folks who have been working for the airlines for 10 years, receiving benefits and 20 dollars an hour. The tumbling idiot has never even applied with an airline. I punch him in the gut for being a self-proclaimed failure.
Bloodshot eyes tumble by.
Fat is in style.
The hot girls walk like they’ve just been fucked by a horse.  At least they have a plan.
I watch walking penises bump into each other as they undo their zippers and piss out of their mouths.
The all have it figured out. They know what’s right, they know what’s good.  They can tell if they like something without ever seeing it or tasting it or meeting it or hearing it.
They know that the universe revolves around them and the United States takes up 80 percent of the Earth’s surface.
And they know what not to bother themselves with.  They know not to bother with politics, or Alan Greenspan, or stocks, or China and Taiwan, or Pakistan and India, or North Korea, or Israel, or Iraq, or Northern Ireland, or oil, or the Russian economy, or Third World countries, or ICBMs, or chemical warfare, or global warming, or dying forest, or monarchies, or coups, or dying, hunger, poverty, or greed.
They know that these things will not matter when our star dies out. They know far too much.
This is my sidewalk, where great men have walked and stupid idiots have tumbled.  I don’t understand their apathy towards life, or their content. Are they not concerned about their future, or are they too lazy? Is it such a hassle to wake up and deal with life, to go to work, to apply for work, and to actually do work?
On my sidewalk I see a man dressed in loin clothes. I stop and stare at his protruding forehead and his hunched back. I ask what he does for work. He grumbles and speaks in Slobernese.
“Me hunt, me gather, me make spear and kill, me screw lady in cave.”  He looks tired and worn so I let him continue his journey north, and he flies right past me.
I look up at all the men and women, or the boys and girls who would be dead 200 years ago or 10,000 years ago. They would have starved so thin that walking skeletons would roam the world. If one was lucky, an artistic bear would have found him and his wife and children. It would have done a surreal painting called “A Family’s Insides” on a cave wall for the high society flies to admire. Natural selection would have taken care of the idiots tumbling south on my sidewalk.
I yell at one girl tumbling by, “Do you think these crops are going to plant themselves you stupid bitch?” She slaps me across the face and keeps on tumbling.
I smile as I become erect, knowing that all I need now is a hand job and a fuck on Tuesdays.