Beast more hair than woman

Spring fever, I was crawling to walls to get out of the house. Heading to downtown just to return a single library book; was the excuse I needed. Driving along, a series of clouds rolled in, ready to deliver our next April shower.

The library is located downtown on a wide boulevard. Small trees lined the street with their leaves merely green spots on the branches. Odd sculptures sat obtrusively along the sidewalk. The trees and art were the city's attempt to enliven the fading old downtown.

I wheeled my old pick up into a parking place out front of the library. Looking up, I saw a very nasty dark cloud settling over the town. Fat drops of rain had just begun to fall here and there. Moving quickly, I headed to the book drop.

Just beside the book drop was a park bench. It sat in the little flower garden the city had planted beside the library. The bench was fifteen feet away from the awning hanging over the book drop. At that moment, a woman was sitting upon that bench. Let me tell you; she was a beast more hair than woman.

She was about sixty years old. Wearing a heavy pair of boots, maybe she weight 90 pounds. It seemed like she was unusually tall for a woman of her generation. She was built like a tooth pick. An oversized charcoal gray, men's, button up shirt hung on the top over her. A pair of white washed, skin tight blue jeans were stretched across her bottom half. Then there was her hair. Brothers and Sisters, it was huge.

Light brown-dead grass would be the color I would use to describe it. There was a hell of a lot of it. To the left and right, it was nearly wider than her shoulders. Reaching to the sky, I'd say there was a good eight inches from the top of her skull. It was curly, very curly. Quite frankly, it looked like she had three or four poodles stuck on her head. This was a creature more hair than woman.

As I dropped my book in the slot; I made a terrible mistake. Eye contact, "damn it, do not look these freaks in the eye." She looked at me and smiled real big. Both of her hands reached up and started primping her absurd hair. Her face shot me an inviting look. It was if she said "come on over here and we will do it on this bench." Making it worse, I could clearly see that her pupils were dilated. She was trashed on a drug I could not understand.

I ran back to my truck at full speed. Firstly, to escape the crazy hair-whore on the bench. Secondly, to escape the heavy rain that was beginning to come down. Just as I closed my truck door, all hell of precipitation broke loose. The rain came down so hard that I could barely see the hair-beast thirty feet away. Moments later, came the hail. Chunks of ice, the size of M&M candy drilled down from the sky. The ice pelted down so hard, the cab of my truck roared like a freight train.

On the bench, the hair-beast sat oblivious. From the safety of my truck, I saw hail bounce off of her nose. She was unfazed. Her lips were in a permanent smile. It was if she was unaware of the hell dropping down around her. Casually she reached up to "touch up" her hair-do. Amazingly, rain and hail seemed to have no effect on her hair. It held its own, defiantly against wind and falling ice.

Now I became concerned. She noticed me watching her. Again, she sent me the "DO ME" look. Quickly I decided that retreat was the better part of valor. It was time to leave; before she tried to come and get into my truck. As I wheeled away, she remained upon bench. Her hair remained insolent to the rain.

It was three blocks away before I felt safe from the crazy hair-bitch. Then I wondered "what the hell is she on." Worse yet, I pondered "could I have really done her on the park bench?"

Dirty Ert