I went for a run on a route I used to do a lot when I first started, but hadn't for a while because the neighborhood went bad. Bad, but probably not the way you might think. People started enlarging their houses, which meant cutting down the gigantic cottonwoods (6-7 foot diameter) and posting "Private Property" signs everywhere. The worst offender is actually my oldest friend (since 7th grade), an investment banker (one of the guys who helped create the nation's current financial mess) who puts in 90-100 hours per week at his job, so he's never seen his house in the daytime.
Really, how big of a house do you need if the only part you use is your bed?!
As I went along in the heat (dewpoint 62), another reason I stopped running this route came back: a guy shouting from his car for me to put a shirt on. I instinctively gave him "the finger." However, my hand being injured, it takes ten seconds to actually get the middle one extended and the index finger curled in. The guy had slowed his car (a beater; it's always a beater) to see what I was going to do.
I broke into a belly laugh.
Here was a guy spoiling for a fight and I couldn't provoke him. Good thing! How many punches can one throw with a broken hand?