The other other day as I approached the Big Time bike rack a guy who was waiting outside for his to-go food said “can I ask you a question?” in the half beat pause it took to look toward him my mind scrolled through ten years of messenger work and the limitless possibilities, the unquantifiable number of stupid questions in existence in addition to the imponderable number of questions yet to be posed ::: elevator conversations, tourist directions, Pike Place pointers, theories on exercise and or fresh air, geography, history, street addresses, parking garage queries, legal advice, bike bullshit blather, weather banter, tattoo questions… …and then I said “sure”
He said “how did you come up with the time on your watch tattoo?”
I said “3:33, three threes can’t be wrong. and it’s actually right twice a day”
all the while I was thinking how did you even see my watch? People are strange. Am I on an elevator at Two Union? What year is this?
Then I checked and the actual time was approaching 3:33 and I smiled to myself because it was Big Time time, big time.
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