I’m in the supermarket. . .

. . .and this guy who looked like a failed 80’s rocker, tats, wife beater, scraggly face and hair (do you know how difficult it is to pull off scraggly hair with a mullet?), slightly stooped posture was in the produce department with his mother.

She thumping melons and squeezing peaches just going down in produce town. He’s generally following behind aimlessly behind her, plotting future air guitar solos in his head, when he passes the lettuce. When he does that I thought he said something. I couldn’t be sure but if I was right this is one sick individual we have wandering around in public with his aged mother.

Fortunately for me his mother was also pretty aimless in her shopping method so kept passing items time after time. This time I’m close enough to hear them clearly. She’s talking about grapes while he wanders behind passing the lettuce once again when he rips out his best Jimi Hendrix and belts out a quick,

“Foxy lettuce.”

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