Monsters on Asphalt

[Sunday, August 09, 2020.]

Yesterday, after sunset, I walked through a local neighbourhood of well-maintained split-level houses on a hill above dense forest. The night was warm and slightly humid, the streets were quiet, and rabbits were out in full hordes.

On one street, I came across a line of cartoon figures drawn across the asphalt, barely visible in the gleam of a street lamp. They stood under a heading reinforced by emphatically multiple strokes of yellow chalk: 1738.

Many of the figures (Pat, for one) were childishly vague, but Will, at the centre, stood out because of his elaborate ski toque.

On the far left of the line was Coco, whose boneless, wavey arms extended far beyond the length of his body. One arm rippled like a banner above his head, the other sagged like a dead tentacle at his feet. What impressed me was that Coco had managed to find a long-sleeved shirt to fit him.

If Coco had long arms, then Lila had four arms. Not even her lobster-claw hands could reduce the impact of her severely-squinting eyes.

On the right end of the line stood a pair of much smaller beings with what looked like pointed ears, or perhaps pointed haircuts. A curved line ran below them to connect all the figures, and below that was the question, Which is your favourite?

Hard to say. All I could think was that I used to spend Saturday nights with my loving and sensual girlfriend, but now I was more likely to spend my time staring at monsters on asphalt.