the holy prophet

This week’s post marks the start of a brand new category for my blog: special guest posts. This one is by a very dear, very talented, and very contemplative friend. Thanks for reading!

Two women were coming down Prince George Street as I was walking up. They were laughing, hurrying to be somewhere, but not quite running, as their 3 or 4 inch heels only allowed for a tripping sort of trot. The formal dresses they were wearing were particularly short and low cut. In my mind, I shook my head at their joie de vivre and risque clothes, and looked away from them. As I looked up towards Randall Street instead, I saw running towards me a frighteningly dirty Bob Ross-looking man wearing running shorts and a handmade tee-shirt that read, “9/11 truth is inside us,” or something similar. I scoffed at him too and took out my phone so that I didn’t have to talk to the crazy.

He stopped running directly in front of me and said, “Word of wisdom for the day: Learn not to be disgusted with women.” I was stunned. I had only looked at those women for maybe one half of a second, but he had laid me bare. I had been disgusted – with what? Their happiness? Their clothes? How petty! How unjust! How unwise. I stopped short, laughed awkwardly, and looked down at the ground, unable to walk forward or think of anything to say. “With that idea, we’ll turn this world over,” he said, and ran on, down toward the city docks.

As I crossed East Street, I knew I had just met the Holy Prophet of this town in the form of a disheveled Bob Ross, covered in weeks of dirt.


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