Defying logic, there he was just standing there on the south side of the intersection of Kennedy and Dale Mabry. The elder Pops, motionless and vacant. On the north side of the intersection stood the younger Pops, staring off into space. Both of them buried deep in their own world.
As I passed by there was no hint of life behind those chestnut eyes of his. A still life of catharsis as the world whirred by. There was no sign of intent to interact with the material world, no sign that Pops was even attached to it. If I was not mistaken, I am pretty sure that I could just barely see through him...both of them. I did not have an opportunity to offer Pops his care package, but I'm not certain if ghosts have any need for nutrition or desire bite size, cheese filled pretzel snacks.
Perhaps I will get another opportunity to offer the spirit of Pops his Combos tomorrow, while he haunts me with the details of his death and what the afterlife is all about. There's an outside chance that I may be able to coax a ghost to deploy Jazz Hands, which would certainly be a first for me.
Today's Jazz Hands were translucent. Day seventy-nine complete.
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