It’s another bitterly cold winter evening in East Tennessee.
Bob heads down to Knoxville on a snowy Saturday night, looking for love. Lots of pretty girls downtown are out on the sidewalks. They ignore Bob. Why is it always this way? They treat him as if he has no more personality than if he were just a mere cardboard cutout.
Feeling rejected, Bob heads up Rt. 75 N the next morning, hoping that maybe if he pays he can get some action. Wrong. The strip joints are closed. It is Sunday.
Bob gets a sign that he might be heading the wrong way. He heads for the river, his mind in turmoil.
Should he end it all? He decides against it. That water looked freezing, and he’s wearing his new shoes.
Bob keeps walking-he has to! His leg is just cut that way. He finds himself deep in the wilderness. Perhaps he should just live in a cave.
Could he survive here living like a Paleolithic hunter?
Not likely. A giant icicle knocks Bob down and nearly kills him. Luckily, his corrugated strength saves him, and he rights himself, barely bent.
Bob decides he'll make another go of it, and heads back to Knoxville. Maybe if he takes his hands out of his pockets and looks up once in a while people won't think he's totally flat and one-sided. Could he work at being a bit more complex? He might never be semi-gloss, but anything would be better than matte. Maybe he just needs to soak up a good latte.
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