After an evening of gorging on the delights of raw fish, sweet Nipponese beer and sake in the company of young and vibrant in mind, spirit and presence, the flesh bag containing the parts of thee within were being delivered to the humble abode of she who plays with the externally observable part of a man seen by few witnesses as me. It truly was an evening of freeing bliss.

The road crowded in this strange and busy part of town, it was a comfort to allow our dinner hosts to drive us around while me and the she I have found myself attached to often sat in the back seat watching the park we meander through pretend as if the city were not encroaching on the little space that remained. When I felt the gentle hand of my female friend rest upon my hand, I looked at her and smiled, but was jolted back to my observational ways when the vehicle abruptly stopped and the hand of fate as momentum shoved my body forward into the seat in front of my comfortable carrying spot.

“Sorry,” the young lass behind the wheel excused coyly.

“It’s fine,” her supportive young lover encouraged in reply. “You know how the drivers are around here.”

Yes, bad drivers abound in certain communities, due a great deal to the excessive urgency most everyone lives in their lives of significance. Like the park I have taken to observing, it was my act to appear unaffected by the encroaching madness. If the trees can ignore the chaotic concrete jungle, why can’t I?

“I don’t know if it was the increased radioactivity or what, but the hamachi was as good as any experienced on the shores of Nippon,” I offered to the hosts who had selected the fishy establishment.

Arriving at another of the stoplights placed every 53.6 feet, I was amazed that the good nature covering the park did not succumb to the incestuous noise, only wilting with delight in the face of the never ending chaos — of course, it could simply have been that they know of a time before man so expect a time without man. The noise grew, horns honking to push the pace of madness to a more desperate level.

There was a honk very near...then another. To stand in oblivion like the trees... Another honk caused the driver to stir.

“What’s wrong with him?!” the young woman asked in exasperation. “I can wait here forever,” she promised.

Looking over one of the shoulders that has always been with me to the car behind us, an anxious young man motioned for us to hurry along. With his angry, frantic gestures, her concern was well founded. I exited the vehicle on a goodwill mission.

Approaching the vehicle of concern, the driver began to wave me off. Tapping on the passenger’s side window — that was the side I was on and saw no wisdom in standing between two cars — I asked the frantic man a question of compassion: “The kind lady in front of you is concerned there might be something wrong. Are you alright?”

There was a great deal of movement about his mouth, but as he was strapped safely into a vehicle sealed for quiet comfort and luxury, I could hear nothing.

“I can’t hear you. Roll down your window,” I politely requested. The rapid shaking of his head from side-to-side in denial of my request was easily understood. So I began to tap on his window with a coin pulled from my pocket. He reacted.

The window rolled down less than an inch. I asked my question of concern again. His response did not directly address my concern regarding his health. “I have a fun! Get away before I shoot you!” he shouted, motioning as if he were going to retrieve something from under his seat.

Considering the kind of fun he may have under his seat — especially the shooting kind — I decided it best not to take time away from my hosts and play. And what if it was not sweet or chuckley fun but something more explosive? How does one deal with the threat of fun? Too new...

Not interested in discovering the veracity of his bluff based on the level of his fear, I was going to accept that he was as good as could be expected, but then he turned the car toward me and began to move. I stepped back and watched him drive around my waiting chariot by using the sidewalk as his private passageway.

Returning to the waiting few, a chorus of questions and concern ejaculated toward my way. I deciphered enough to answer, “Because you asked ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I went to relieve you of your concern.”

“That’s not what I meant! You know that!”

“No, I didn’t,” I answered, knowing that one can never truly know what one means — even if that one is the self.

There was some discussion regarding the sanity and righteousness of my actions, but I saw no need to participate, as what was done could not be undone and a grasp of understanding of the actions of others always leaves one seeking purpose of action wanting...and I was pondering the threat of being shot by fun.

“This unpredictability of yours is why we can’t go anywhere with people,” was whispered into my ear by the chewy sweet taste I hoped to gnaw.

I could not refrain. “Unpredictability? No, you mean the predictability that I will do something that makes others uncomfortable because it is not what they would do. Perhaps you could say it is unexpected, but not really unpredictable.”

“You know what I mean. You’re such an ass,” she whispered in her sweetest, quietest a feint, blushing rise to arousal.

Her reply was absolutely as expected — 100% predictable.

Horns honk; tires squeal; people on their way to do important things bicker, but the tress stand tall, proud, peaceful, as if our manufactured chaos was quite insignificant. Uh, to be a tree...