By Mark David Blum, Esq.

Instead of smearing it throughout all of my writings, I chose to dump it here. Yesterday was hot. I break out in a sweat just remembering it. The walking is getting annoying. As predicted, Times Square is chaos with the Lottery there. Also, the walk through the early Midway makes you think about giving up.

I am sick and tired of screaming crying kids. Don’t try to bring four kids by yourself on a hot day. The best of intentions can be the stupidest ideas; and cruel. Please don’t tell me about yours. They were ugly the day they were born and haven’t improved much since. It sucks to have to be say nice things when your heart isn’t in it.

Yes, even I was tired and hurting enough to ALMOST put on my shoes. I almost came to tears at one point but remained steadfast in my duty and obligation as a barefooter.

As I age, I find the value of the Midway less interesting than a good bottle of wine and some tunes. I cannot fathom the vast quantities of beer consumed by the younger. Now, it just gives me a headache and ultimately I puke.

For some reason too the lines seem longer, my patience and bladder are thinner, and I cant stop complaining. I even talk to myself about how miserable I am at any given moment. The sun is getting hotter and the Fair food prices have gone through the roof.

Reducing the entire experience to a single event looks like this: Late during the heat of the afternoon, I was rounding the bend from the Grandstand toward the Infield. Cast aside against the fence; I nearly tripped over a pair of tennis shoes. Tossed aside and obviously of no interest to nobody; not even their former owners, the shoes became a momentary symbol of my mood and status. Meaningless, worn out, and uninteresting.

But like the best of shoes, clean me up, wipe me down, and give me a good spitshine, and I am again ready to face the world AND I PROMISE no more whining or being grumpy.