Captain Tuck

I didn’t get to see his face, but I smelled his cigar. This guy, this older man smoking a cigar passed me on my walk in this morning. He was wearing a soft fabric baseball cap. He was also wearing large, voluminous pants – almost MC Hammer pants. I almost said “please Hammer, don’t hurt ‘em”, but I didn’t.

He apparently needed these parachute pants for the room it takes to tuck in your shirt and blazer.

Yup, belt up halfway along the waist, and his dress jacket tucked down into those pants. And did I mention smoking a cigar? Did I mention smoking a cigar like a dick hungry porn starlet trying to prove something in a blow job scene? No sooner had he finished blowing out the last foul smoke cloud, he was back sucking in a new one.

And what just made this over the top great, the cherry on the sunday, the whiskey in the glass, was that the guy walked down the sidewalk like a drag queen modeling fall fashions to an adoring crowd.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, but I will call him Captain Tuck.