Heck and You 

I don't know quite when it started, but lately, I've been writing a lot about you. Not all of you, though. Mainly I've been focusing on those of you who aren't reading this newspaper--or at least, who I hope aren't, because I wrote about what perverse and bizarre lives you're leading, driving around pantsless, crashing your bike into me and so forth. How detailed my description of you got, of course, depended on a variety of factors, including the space left by the gentleman writing on the top nine-tenths of this page, as well as aesthetic concerns, which are dictated by how severe the exhaust leak in my truck cab is on any given morning. (It ebbs and flows, but believe me, after a drive to Sun Valley and back, I'm reporting from the great gray depths of the old noodle, whatever that means).

I was walking around downtown the other day at what seemed like the most dire, desperate hour of the entire Best Of Boise issue. I was tired of writing about things--and in particular, the best things. I was tired of having an opinion at all. Then I saw you again. Naturally, I paused to admire the royal blue convertible IROC Camaro that you parked at the curb next to me. Such a well-preserved artifact from the 1980s is worth staring at--the still-sparkly gray racing stripe decals in particular. My wistful bubble was soon burst, however, when you stepped out. I don't know why this word comes to mind, but you looked salty. Like the sea? Like a crusty old sailor? Like a knee-pit? Yes, yes and yes. You were as filthy as your car was spotless, and your gray and black hair stuck like steely straw from underneath your hat. This (once) black foam and netting crown bore the logo of a farm that apparently either deals in, or produces, boar semen. I pondered this for a few seconds, and kept walking. You, however, made a beeline into a nearby construction site for a high-end building and stepped into a vacant porta potty. Did you work there? Perhaps. I didn't think so. Then I had a revelation.

"That is the best thing I've seen this week," I thought. And like that, my opinionation glands switched back on, and I was reinvigorated. We finished the issue without any tears two days later. Thanks, you. I hope you found whatever you were looking for in that construction site toilet.

--Nicholas Collias

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