It Looked Like a Lumpy Strawberry Milkshake

As I pulled into work this morning, I had to veer sharply to the right and park next to my normal parking spot. "Why," you ask, "was there a bum person in your way?" No, no person. It was vomit. That's right: a big, splashy pile of puke right there in our parking lot. I have often called the sidewalk that runs next to our building the Hobo Highway, because, well, our office seems to be situated in a sort of Bermuda Triangle of homeless hotspots. Not that the homeless people are getting lost; we are just situated on the inside of three great homeless hangouts: a church that distributes food on a regular basis, the library (nice and warm), and the city park. We shall call it the "Tramp Triune." And within the Tramp Triune, we have become accustomed to pulling into the parking lot and seeking various empty liquor bottles and beer cans, but this is a first for the side-effects side of things. I don't know what you should expect out of the rest of your day when the first thing you witness as you come in to work is Vagabond Vomit, but it seems to promise more of the unexpected. We'll see...