What's That Smell?

The other day I was biking along the west side bike path, and I passed this guy who had stopped and was picking lilacs from among the carefully tended flower beds that line sections of the path in lower Manhattan.

At first I was bemused and thought, "People will be people."

Then, the more I thought about it, I started getting pissed off that someone would think that those flowers – which are clearly put there and tended at what I'm sure must be some expense – should be basically stolen by some guy who doesn't give a shit about the rest of the world. I mean, after all, I thought, those flowers were put there for everyone to enjoy; not just for some jackass who wants to take a bouquet to his girlfriend, right?

And it was, indeed, a freakin' fistful of lilacs with which he was absconding.

Then, as I was huffing and puffing along in my high dudgeon, something finally occurred to me.

Had I not actually seen that guy stealing those flowers, I'm not entirely sure I would have ever noticed them, so intent am I on pedaling my fat ass along the path and to my stupid destination.

I actually have that guy to thank for making me, metaphorically, at least, stop and smell the roses.

'Course, now that they're gone, it's a moot point.