Con-valescent

We have a new problem on U St. And this one has nothing to do with Joe. There's no delicate way to put this. It seems this little corner of our nation's capital is, of late, and wherefore I know not, infested with a gang of motorized wheelchair thugs.

I say thugs because they look like thugs, and because Kriston's crazy German neighbor confirmed that at least one member of the gang earned his wheels in a shoot-out out back, some time past. They're young, they're mean, and they all have matching motorized wheelchairs in which they haul ass down the avenue, occassionally twirling around, 80s breakdance style, except um, parapalegically instead of on backs. And when they get together, it's like the Hell's Angels on Medicaid, because there'll be six or seven of 'em blazing a path down the middle of the road (sidewalks can't hold that kind of bad), matching Atari joystick controllers full throttle ahead, and only trouble behind. I am terrified of them. Perhaps you find it insensitive to be terrified of wheeled persons, to which I can only say, you have not seen Return to Oz.




(There's supposed to be a photo up there. I can't imagine why it's not showing. Foiled again!)