An Idiotic Moment

I shoo two love-bugs suspended in mid-hover from the driver’s seat as I look for the bug repellent. As I find the green cylindrical spray-can another airborne creature ventures into my vehicle, buzzing near my left ear.

Within the next thirty minutes, I will have a signature Joe moment. My misplaced commonsense would have told me not to waste an hour driving to reach this destination. In my own defense, I would not have known that there would be a triathlon congesting bicycle paths in mid-October, stargazing happens on Saturday nights from 8:30 to 10:00 p.m. or that this appears to be a love-bug breeding-ground as dozens of them are now crawling on my car.

A nature trial begins here, becoming partially disconnected across a road and resuming on the other side. Pine trees are marked at eye-level with green, showing the way. I encounter a small post with the number four on it. Ahead is another one marked five. Then, I have a choice to make: go left or right.

Left.

Creatures dive into the foliage. Birds sing from somewhere overhead. There is not a soul to be seen. Approaching a wooden bridge, the ground is slightly damp, I see footprints in the puddles of mud from recent travelers. I jump onto the bridge, continuing my way down the path.

There’s another directional choice to make. I select the sign with the higher numbers and turn right, continuing into the unknown.

This differs from walking around an outdoor mall as the green low-lying speakers playing upbeat music are replaced with green tree markings and chirping birds. People walking with small shopping bags are… well… not here. Sidewalks and roads are replaced with dirt and mud.

As the path dips downward, things become muddier. Footprints in the mud convince me that if people made it past here, then so can I. I spend more time navigating around mud than making forward progress.

Over the course of the next few turns, muddy ground turns into a small stream. Backtracking to the last crossroads, I opt for the smaller set of numbers. This leads to the same destination: a small muddy stream.

You’re walking in a swamp, Joe. If it rained yesterday and the day before yesterday, guess what? It’s going to be swampier.

My ankles and lower legs are speckled with black mud as I trudge my back to my car. As the bug repellent wears off, my pace quickens, and the mosquitoes begin to feed on me.

Ascend a flight of stairs, over a crosswalk, open a set of double doors (two of them), through an aisle of clothes and I am there.

I end up at the same place where I begin, similar to a lap around my neighborhood but air conditioned.  Call it what you wish:  futile exercise or a lunchtime diversion.

A store on the far end of the second floor mysteriously disappears, replaced with a solid black wall.

Making a lap around on the top floor, I take the stairs down to the first and do the same.  The floor is more dense with people at ground level.  The store marked with 131 near the base of an outer facing wall irritates my nose.  Climbing the stairs to the second floor, I catch a whiff something pleasantly reminiscent of pumpkins.

Warm Ups

I unhook the shoe pocket from my worn, dirty and holy pair of shoes, fasten it onto my new pair and head out the door. Prior to the usual lap around the neighborhood, I walk to the pedestrian gate; however, there is some competition to reach it.  A lady walks briskly to my left, as we both make a beeline towards it.  Some never venture over the bounds of the gate as if a force field prevents them from crossing it.  It’s strange.

She fumbles for her keys.  My house and gate key are in my left hand.  I eye the silver key which unlocks it four or five homes away.  She picks up speed.

Watched (Update 2)

“Do you see it?”

I look for anything out of the ordinary.  “No.”

“The red thing.”

Scanning the bushes and tress for anything red I come up clueless.

“It’s on the wall.”

Walking across the street a circular object glows red on the wall as if catching a reflection from distant car brake lights.  After a few seconds, it stops glowing.  “These are hard to spot,” I note.  “It stopped glowing.”

“It’s not recording us anymore.  Look behind you.”

I turn around and catch another faintly glowing red object seated on a black pole.