I took the car in for work again today. A stupid piece of trim around the windshield is loose, and apparently the Ford dealer can't handle it so they need to have a glass shop come and fix it. I wouldn't even bother with it if I didn't have a bumper-to-bumper warranty. My brother asked me a very good question this weekend: "Why don't they just have the glass guy come to your house?"
I decided to walk home from Western & Devon since I could use the exercise. Going by way of the North Shore Channel path is probably 3.5-4 miles. As I walked under Bryn Mawr Avenue on the path, I saw something drop into the water from the bridge. my first reaction was to curse about litterbugs. Then I realized what it was -- a small bouquet of flowers wrapped in plastic. This was intriguing.
I conjured up various scenarios that would have led to the flowers being tossed off the bridge. They ranged from sentimental (a loved one drowned there years ago on this day) to pathetic (unwanted flowers from a lover who can't accept that it's over) to cynical (a guy went to give them to his lover and found her with another man). In fact, it would be a perfect example for a writing exercise:
Someone tosses a bouquet of flowers into the river. Write 500 words about what precipitated this event.
I'll never know why it happened, but my money is on the cynical end of the spectrum.