Near my place of work lies a little
city square, the longtime center of a
neighborhood. The typical neighborhood businesses have long since vanished, replaced by
bars,
clubs,
restaurants, and other
eateries.
At one end of the square is a bar, a little more like a typical neighborhood watering hole. As I occasionally walk by there, I notice a tribute to a local baseball player, made from construction paper letters, strung up in the front window:
THANK'S
CAL
Every time I walk by this window, I am torn between the desire to run into the bar and tear the apostrophe off the string (probably resulting in my arrest), and wonder at the fact that some person lovingly cut that apostrophe out of construction paper, filled in the center with black magic marker, and glued it to the string.
Invariably, a great sadness comes over me.