It’s been a few runs since I posted any of the myriad of things I find while out on an average day’s run. I believe the last one was the skull I found right outside my front gate. This morning’s finds were less intriguing than a skull but still amusing. Well, one of them was amusing. I found this fire hydrant wearing a t-shirt. I was amused. I would have been more amused had the hydrant dresser actually pulled it down to hang correctly the hydrant arms.

It reminded me of the old church ladies who used to knit stockings for the curved legs on the piano and organ lest the congregation think unclean thoughts about large musical instruments in a house of worship. I kid you not. Naked furniture legs were considered too suggestive for God’s House but putting lingerie on the legs? This was apparently holy AF. It never occurred to me to get turned on by the curvy legs on a piece of furniture (or instrument) until the church ladies suggested it to me. Good thing our church didn’t have a harp. Or a French horn.

These were the same ladies who deliberately wore dresses to church but then upon sitting down in pew or chair, whipped out huge scarves or baby blankets to drape over any exposed leg below their hemlines. I guess they didn’t subscribe to the notion that the fastest way to prompt folks to regard their legs as forbidden fruit was to treat them like forbidden fruit. I never, ever wanted to sin with my eyes at/with/near a church lady who sat in a pew without her legs covered. Never had a single sexy thought about an exposed ankle. But every time I beheld one of those blanket-clad biddies, guess what I thought? Yep.

I look at this hydrant and wonder less why the hydrant is wearing a t-shirt and more why the t-shirt shucker did such a half-ass job of dressing it. Unless the donor was also of the church lady ilk and found the head of the hydrant too suggestive for public view. I never had a sexy thought about a fire hydrant either but if we going to go around covering them in shame, guess what’s going to happen? Make something taboo and everyone will want it; it’s been proven time and again, y’all.

The other find which wasn’t so amusing? I found some swastikas drawn on the sidewalk outside the old Salvation Army building. I didn’t find this funny at all. I also didn’t take any photos. There were some words written as well. I stopped running and tried to read them. The best I could make out was Joshua don’t — swastika — swastika — and West. Right there in the middle of downtown. In full view of city surveillance cameras.

Not a clue what the message was supposed to convey (other than the obvious part), but I was not going to just run on and leave it there. Since I was carrying a water bottle I splashed the chalky swastikas and scrubbed at them with my shoe until they resembled something more like flowers. I didn’t have enough water to completely wash them away but they were sufficiently obscured by the time I finished. Really, Joshua, you shouldn’t.

So there you have it. An average day’s run at daybreak. Functional erotica and hateful sidewalks. It’s never just a run.

— Mercy