You see it everywhere.
And I mean everywhere. If you look.
It's a man's world here, a virtual whiz capital.
Gotta drain the plumbing? Do it. Nuff said.
The only requirement is to face away from traffic. Face a wall. Face the river. Stand behind your car, whatever. Just don't show your pee-pee.
Too much.
And if rules are made to be broken, they get broken.
Like two days when ago I was returning to my hotel about 1:30 p.m., when I rounded the corner, and in front of me, across from the blue-domed cathedral, in a major tourist area, half a block from the flower market, I saw a man rising from a squat and pulling up his pants.
Yeah, I saw way more than I needed to.
Being a guy, I know what's down there. Well, I know what I got, and don't want to know about yours.
I think he laid one on the pavement.
He must have been in the advanced class. Maybe it was his final exam. Way beyond watering the curb.
Cab drivers tend to congregate in off hours. They park four or five or six in a line along the river. They stand and talk. Shoot the breeze. Hang out.
Whoops. I'm giving away the plot.
What plot? You know where this is going.
So when the time comes, they stand shoulder to shoulder, their backs to traffic, and nail the lawn.
You can identify that stance from two blocks away. Legs spread for stability, both hands down at the crotch. No walking around. Looking straight ahead. Give it a couple of shakes when you're done and zip up.
All over.
Just delivered a fare? With your cab parked in the street, walk behind it and do what you have to, facing the trunk, then get back to work.
Hanging out with the rest of your fifteen-year-old friends in front of someone's house? Stick your business end inside the doorway of their outer wall and leave some moisturizer.
It happens.
All over here.
And you know what?
I wish I could do it.
Things would be so much simpler.
If.