keep your panties on

I am on the way to meet the Mathematician at Douzo for sushi.

Ah, Douzo, with your delicious spicy tuna roll, a roll that would seem pedestrian anywhere else. Yum. I start planning our order as I walk briskly past the line to get into Clerys. It stretches all the way to the end of the block.

Yech, Clery's. I shudder. I stomp by, casting accusing looks at the numerous fratty boys and dumpy girls lined up outside to get in. What are you all doing here in the Gayborhood? I want to scream. Go back to Allston! I look down at the brick sidewalk to avoid making eye contact.

A small black triangle of fabric lying on the ground catches my eye...Wait a minute...is that a THONG?

Indeed, it is. I have just spied a black, crumpled thong lying on the ground outside Clery's.

As if that dump wasn't trashy enough?
Whose is that? How did it get there?
Does anyone else see it lying there, in the dirt???

I glance around quickly: the crowd is too busy being drunk and lame to notice. All of these questions I have about the thong, it's lifespan, and it's untimely demise...

Then I realize: I don't want to know the answers. To any of them.

I march on towards the sushi and try not to think about it.