My Ridiculous Job.

First thing this morning, I encountered someone that I'll call "the chief" playing in traffic near the homeless shelter in north Boulder. He wasn't just crossing the street, he was stumbling around in the intersection, muttering to himself (or someone). I did get his attention with the air horns, enough that he nearly fell backwards--at least he didn't continue walking into the front of the tractor with doors.

Later, I encountered some prize-winning gravy. 192 gallons of dog shit, gravel, and festering mayonnaise. I'm glad that I went to college for this shit.