It's the fashion police
As I was out biking around town today with a heavy backpack full of stuff, I spotted two absurd wardrobe malfunctions.
First, it was the moslem gentleman heading into the mosque in the old brothel. He was slightly overweight, and was wearing a shirt and an incredibly ugly, baggy pair of sweat pants. First off: isn't wearing sweat pants to mid-day prayers just disrespectful? "Hey there, Allah. I was loafing around the house eating potato chips, and thought I'd pop in to do my religious duty to the most powerful being in the universe." But the most striking thing was that the brand of the pants was Mecca. And said brand was stitched in golden capitals on said pants' ass.
And I think to myself: so how does this guy face Mecca during prayer?
Second, as I was pulling up at my house, I passed a guy who was walking along the road in the glaring heat. The asphalt rose in waves further down the road, and we were in a little shelter from the wind, so the sun really got to its thing.
He was white, late twenties maybe and rather overweight. Flashy watch, flashy glasses, flashy clothes. Looked like one of those real estate brokers a little too eager to show off the bling-bling. Except on top of it, this guy was wearing a huge, black, very nice, good-quality, all-zipped up windbreaker-style winter jacket. It looked like it had an inch and a half of padding all over. His face was completely red, and he was sweating in tiny rivers down his face. His mouth was half-open, making him look like a half-cooked salmon.
But the nice touch, the piece de resistance, the coup de grace, the je ne sais whatever, was the water bottle he held clasped in his left hand. As though he left home in his arctic-exploration jacket and thought "I ought to be careful about not getting dehydrated", and filled his water bottle like a good little trooper before he zipped up his enormous jacket and left the house.