I’m walking on Pico Blvd Friday afternoon when a stream of urine appears in front of me. I trace the stream to its source — it is a black boy, about nine years of age, pissing out from the bus stop.
The sheer comedy of the moment seizes me and I look the kid in the eye and give him a goofy grin.
Immediately, the boy and his friend start accusing me of being gay.
Ashamed and frightened, I hurry on my way.
I must learn to control my reactions when I encounter people urinating in public.
D. emails: “Sunny Jim, those young lads weren’t “accusing” you of anything. They were simply stating an obvious fact. You’re a bloody ponce. A poof. A fair-dinkum abomination to your mum and me.”
