Dear diary…

Yesterday, a strange man showed me his penis.

 

 

 
I headed to the bus stop near my house just before 9 a.m. this morning so I could book it to work by 10. I miss the bus 8:49, natch (thanks, YRT… you could have spared me this whole episode). I’m sitting on the bench in the fishbowl shelter, waiting for the thing to roll up, minding my own business. Up walks this dude who looks relatively normal, but he’s got a queer little smile on his face and a phone glued to his ear. Don’t make much of it, but strangely, oddly… as I’m spacing out, in my periphery vision I notice the 501-looking jawns he was wearing, and I think Hmm, those are nice jeans. Wonder if they’re selvedge. I feel someone burning their eyes into my head.

And then. And then… my eyes drift upward from the patch of concrete I had been oogling – while he was oogling me.

But stop.

At.
His.
Crotch.

In full view – in all its wrinkly, erect glory…

Is his penis. Peeking out. Through his fly (by the way, they were zip, therefore removing the possibility that they were 501XXs. Glad I got that out of the way). To his face my eyes then turn, and I see the creepiest, slightest wondrous smile of a face. Like a kid in a candy store. Or like an old pervert looking at the kids in the candy store.

In a panic I pull out my phone to call someone, anyone. He figures I’m calling the po-po, so he zips up and heads back from whence he came. The police came over last night to take a statement, and now my mother thinks I shouldn’t take the bus ever again.

The end.

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