Tuesday, June 15

So we're sidewalk people still, but now there's no balloon and I forget why we wanted to be sidwalk people so badly to begin with. I'm depressed. They didn't even let me keep the popped balloon remnants. At least that would have been something.

I don't know who shot the balloon or why. But I miss it so. My balloon of destiny. Like a big chunk of my heart was ripped off. With it I had all these ideas flowing through me... passion, intensity... now nothing. And we're homeless.

And those police really hurt my feelings. Like digging at an already deep wound with one of those small garden shovels. They didn't arrest us becuase we're sort of famous and work for the station, but they sure told us off.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head thinks it's funny. He's lying in the grass, basking in the sun, all smile. Every now and then he giggles a little.

"Hey," calls a voice behind me. I turn around. "What are you doing on my lawn?"

"I'm sorry." I tell him. I scoot down to sit in the middle of the hot white sidewalk.

"I don't want you guys in front of my house. Get out of here before I call the cops." He's fat and wearing a plaid shirt. He isn't bald, but his head would look much better without that awful haircut.

"Hey buddy," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head, eyes still closed as he remains on the lawn. "It's a free country, remember?"

"Yeah, but it's my lawn. Get off it."

"Come on, Mr. Happy Puppet Head. Let's go."

"No way, man." He gets up and bobbles over to the angry guy. "Like I said, it's a free country. And not only are we free to sit in front of your house, but I'm free to kick your dumpy ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

They stare each other down. I almost say something, but I hold it in. I don't want anyone to get hurt, but a little scuffle would take my mind off of things.

"Oh yeah?" the man repeats.

"Oh yeah?" Mr. Happy Puppet Head mimics.

"Oh yeah?" the man repeats.

"Oh yeah?" Mr. Happy Puppet Head mimics.

"Hey," says the man.

"Hey," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

"Stop that," says the man.

"Stop that," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

"I'm warning you, buddy."

"I'm warning you, buddy," and Mr. Happy Puppet Head, who has been trying to keep an angry face like the plaid man was wearing, bursts out laughing. The plaid man glares at the floating furry head in front of him. He wags a fat calloused finger at Mr. Happy Puppet Head before storming accross his lawn, getting out the hose and spraying us with cold water.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head instanty stops laughing and lunges at the man. He knocks him down and they wrestle around in the soggy grass. They yell and grunt a lot.

I hope he doesn't get beat up too badly. I'm already going to have to live with that awful puppet head smell he gets when he's wet, I don't want him crying and bleeding, too.

Damn I miss my balloon.

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