Hurry On Sundown.

'Hurry on sundown,' said the old man. He was standing around an old maple, looking careless as aged, multi-coloured leaves pattered against his horrendous comb-over. His overall appearance, hairstyle aside, was in itself sure-fire demonstration of idiosyncrasies most commonly exhibited by the elderly.
An example of this is how a permanent scowl seemed to exist upon his heavily wrinkled face, which had been clearly poisoned by the irreversible effects of prolonged cigarette smoke exposure, leaving behind deep, tar-clogged pores and fine grit, emphasising the already well developed creases surrounding his small, cruel looking mouth. It could be said that his visage was an overall amalgamation of disgust, though the casual observer might use less harsh terms to describe it because the majority of people cared too much about feigning niceness than being honest for, in some cases, maintaining the image of political correctness, which in this case might be appropriate considering the fact that this man carried a rather menacing looking cane, presumably used as a makeshift weapon in certain circumstances, or so it had been said. The cane, coated with chrome for visual effect and reputed to have been constructed with solid alloys, glinted dully in the dying afternoon sunlight.

'Say, that's a nice cane,' I commented dryly, not really committed to maintaining eye-contact with this particular individual.

'Get out of my life!' he instructed, and turned around suddenly, almost too suddenly for me to really acknowledge.He waddled away rather obnoxiously, leading me to conclude that he had perhaps been inflicted by arthritis of the knee, or some other equally as debilitating ailment, but when he was gone I realized; those rocks he sold me, the bullet-proof rocks, how could they, in any way shape or form, protect my internal organs, specifically lungs? 'Bullet proof rocks can protect your heart...' I thought I heard him say at some point in our pointless conversation, but altogether I wasn't really in my head at the time. Actually, I was probably really in my head, like to the point that nothing else in my immediate surrounding environment posed any sense of relevancy or meaning, simply drifting past like some orchestrated demonstration of subliminal activity within a material-bound existence.

The road I proceeded down wasn't much different than the other roads in the general vicinity, except for that it was caked in an obscure, fluorescent goo substance, similar to yogurt or toothpaste. My immediate reaction was to avoid the strange slop, but as I was already halfway down the street at this point, it seemed unavoidable that I would continue onward as if completely unimpeded by gelatinous goo or otherwise.

'Hey, get out of that shit!' came a voice, female in origin. 'It's radioactive, man.'

'Oh... shit,' I moaned, glancing down to take notice of the fact that my once beautiful sneakers had nearly liquefied. It would have been idiotic for me to claim that I did not experience a form of burning sensation, but truth be told, my escapist tendencies had all but cordoned off my abilities of feeling and reason at this point, leaving me rather numb to the effects of interactions occurring outside of my own imagination. I bounded out of this neon green slop, landing awkwardly on a deteriorated pavement sidewalk next to the woman who'd so generously informed me of the severity of my situation.

'Sorry I didn't call you sooner man, looks like your shoes are toast...'

'Ahh, it's alright, they weren't that good anyway. I can always buy new ones.'

'Well there's looking on the bright side for you,' she said, finishing her sentence with a bright smile. Normally I wouldn't pay any particular attention to such a casual facial expression, but at that moment in time it seemed as though her general appearance had temporarily rendered my abilities of reason obsolete, causing me to gaze stupidly for no less than half a second.

After a brief pause in vocal communication, followed by a somewhat awkward expression on my behalf, she spoke once more, utilizing tones of voice which invaded my conscious mind quite pointedly. 'Hey, I have a better idea.. can I make you a pair of sandals? They're really cool.'

'Woooaahhh,' I blurted suddenly, 'do you like computerized video games?'

'What the hell?' she asked confusedly.

At this point, it became clear to me that I’d involuntarily driven the parts of my brain responsible for language production and logical thought into some unreconcilable state of stupification, threatening to shutdown the thinking process altogether. A sudden urge to compile any particular sentence, regardless of content, soon struck like a clear chord in my waning mind. 'Well, I'm not entirely certain that I could accept such a generous offer, though I certainly wouldn't attempt to cause you displeasure by rejecting it.' Where did that come from?

'Oh, sweet...' she said, eyes still poised in an expression that bespoke a state of confusion before adding with a smile, 'You'll like them I swear!'

I was hit with an unexpected beam of warmth after realizing what exactly she was talking about; I was to receive a new pair of handcrafted sandals, courtesy of this wonderful girl. At that exact moment I became heavily inclined to express that I thought she was a wonderful girl, and that I was exceedingly grateful for her creating new, reputedly 'cool' sandals, which she apparently crafted of her own volition. This simple fact didn't perturb me; insomuch there was absolutely no reason for me not to vocally elucidate this conclusion, although it could be considered an inappropriate discursion in regards to the present conversation. However, if a simple examination of the chronology of this social interaction involving this woman and I were applied, it could be observed that at various points in time two diametrically opposed thought processes in which noticeable cases of cognitive dissonance appear to yield numerous instances of simultaneous relation containing conflict-induced uncertainty, emphasized by unexplainable feelings of heightened anxiety which lead me to formulate the concept that my mind requires extensive psycho-conditioning, obtainable through a repeated exposure to repetitious, mind-numbing activities; activities that could quite possibly be so exceedingly prevalent in our current society, as a result of, but not limited to, extensive globalization, multiculturalism, and political correctness, despite the fact that to make such deductions may require almost obsessive extrasensory awareness and abilities of pattern recognition.

‘So… uhh, are you coming?’ said the sweet voice, so effortlessly derailing my train of thought.

‘Of course, just let me peel off the partially liquefied remains of my old runners,’ I said, ensuring to follow up with a nervous sounding laugh to indicate my humorous intentions. Our conversations, though initially terse, gradually progressed to a more mutually enjoyable level.

She smiled once more, led me onward, and we proceeded down the road as the sun glimmered over the horizon before twilight set in. Hurry on… sundown… I thought to myself, recalling earlier the old man and the bulletproof rocks – I needed them no longer.