Tartan Pants

I was taking a walk. It was twilight, and I was just going around a 3 block area in Midtown where I live, just to get some energy and some blood pumping. There was this scary Goth guy standing on a doorstep, he had on the knee high nail studded boots, every inch of his exposed body was pierced with something studded and metal, and he had on spiked mittens, a leather spiked jacket, you name it. He looked like a black metal cactus. I thought, well, I could run the other way or I could just say good evening, so I said good evening and “MY, aren’t you looking Goth this evening?” to which he replied, “Thanks, only I’m not Goth, I’m PUNK.” At that point I was walking right past him could see that he was fully 50 and not a day younger. And I thought, now, what in the heck has that man been doing for the last 35 years? Punk was 80’s! I think all their bands are dead by now! Did he just crawl out of a suspended animation tube? Does he live his life going to work in his ‘other’ persona every day? His normal one, I mean. Mr. Tax Accountant, Mr. Salesclerk at Petsmart, or whatever he is? And only comes out in his Punk Self at night or on weekends?

Anyway, we spoke briefly about his tartan pants, as I moved on and came on home.