So the whole family went down to the Sunday Streets thing. Me, Sharrow, the two urchins. Sunday Streets is when they banned cars from Fifth Avenue for four hours and let us riff-raff have the run of the place.
And for some it was time for frivolous, meaningless fun:
Ah, well. Some of us, you know, had greater things on our minds. More important things. Earth-saving things. Some of us think we should stop goofing off and consider the deeper philosophical underpinnings of this Sunday Streets frivolity.
For one thing, I hope you realize that this was a test run. The day will come when we exit the Age of Oil. And when it does come, those who kept their heads, those who mustered all their energy and ingenuity to engineer the Technologies of the Future, those will be the people laughing then.
Guys like this:
And what about global warming? When the Earth is nothing but a searing hot briquette, are your eyeballs going to vaporize? Not if you wear the proper shades:
I know these are hard things to think about. Even I needed to take a break from it sometimes. So I’m glad I came upon the Red Wagon ice cream cart. If you came upon the Red Wagon ice cream cart and found they were out of Smoked Salted Caramel #6, well, I’m really sorry about that.
Oh, wait. What have we here?
Mickey Mouse upside down? A circus trick about to happen? No, no. When the Age of Oil is kaput and you no longer have to drive around looking for a parking spot, you will need new hobbies to kill all the spare time on your hands. Hula hoops. Juggling. Stilt walking. Maybe painting images of the Virgin Mary on the head of a pin. Those kinds of things.
And speaking of wasting time, I was reminded of Le Tour de Milk Crate when I spotted “Charles.”
Sunday Streets just puts you in that kind of mood.