On the Mall

On the mall, smoking, wheels (i.e. bicycles and skateboards), and pets are prohibited. Between forty and fifty signs and icons state the case very clearly. Nevertheless, the rules are often flouted. Smokers are furtive: they can't help themselves even though they show, by their demeanor, that they are well aware that they're doing wrong. The bicyclists are apologetic. Skateboarders are oblivious, totally. The dog-owners are defiant. "No bureaucrat is going to tell me where I can walk my dog." The beggars are entitled. This morning, one disheveled youth carried a sign that read "Why lie?  I need to get fucked up." (I used occasionally to donate to our "homeless" until I was taught that meals are readily available and that the begged money goes to support alcohol and drug habits. Also I was taken aback when a man to whom I gave two quarters returned them to me, saying, "I don't take coins".)  Some of the buskers are fine musicians and earn their one or five dollar bill but I think that here is something rather sad about their forced cheer. On the other hand, the strolling young folks, holding hands and radiantly in love, are wonderful to behold, especially when there's a toddler or two trailing them. And I also enjoy watching the strolling old folks, fifty or more years into marriage, sometimes holding hands, sometimes wheelchairing it. Dyads of all ages and kinds cheer and encourage me.