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Health & Fitness

The Early Birds

Last Sunday morning approximately 6am, as Murph Doggy Dogg and I were about to make our first weekend expedition out into the wilds of 2nd Street, we were greeted with the sight of roughly a half bucket of popcorn dumped on the sidewalk in front of our house. Unusual to be sure, but certainly not the type of litter that makes one shake their heads and ponder the demise of civilization. I have done so often living near 2nd Street, where I have awoke to find half-finished beer bottles, Jack in the Box bags, and even a set of keys outside my house. On this day however, the sight of popcorn instantly put me and Murph in a great and kind of silly mood. (I can always tell he is in a great and silly mood, because as he walks he looks like he is singing that song from the "Kibbles and Bits" commercial) You see, popcorn littering, evokes fun, innocence and some poor sap yelling "oh no!" Whereas Jack in the Box littering evokes slobby drunkenness and someone blurting out "oh screw it", dropping popcorn is almost akin to dropping ice cream; a pure tragedy.

Since I am not even remotely to be considered a night person, much of my pleasure from living near 2nd Street derives from early morning dog walks. Other writers, such as my friend and fellow morning walker Tim Bulone, have written wonderful pieces about the beauty of Belmont Shore mornings. For me, walking on 2nd Street early on a weekend morning gives the feeling of walking into a house after the party has been cleared out. A bit messy of course, beautifully serene, and a nagging Morrissey-like feeling that wonders why I wasn't invited to take part. (Maybe because I fell asleep at 8:51?) As Murphy tries his very doggy best to determine where that glorious smell is coming from, (spoiler alert Murph, it's a half-eaten Jumbo Jack), I get to take in the scene. Characters that look like they were lifted directly from Steinbeck novels hang out near the donut shop or Peets. Power walkers hurry through, being careful to avoid the gross evidence of a bar that over served to a college student who over drank. A surfer, already wearing half his wetsuit, runs out of his refurbished VW Bus across the street to get a Starbucks fix on his way to a beach that can claim to have actual waves. And to give the whole thing a surreal soundtrack, Bette Midler’s “Wind Beneath My Wings” wafts out from near the photo lab.

On this day, in just a few hours, 2nd Street will once again be overflowing with life. The restaurants and bars will soon be packed, the clothing stores and nail salons will be humming, and several spandex laden visitors will be trying to negotiate our Sharrows. For now however, this street belongs to the early birds.

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Sorry gotta run, apparently Murphy has found a half-eaten box of curly fries.

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