Wet Cement David Paik’s only goal in life is to somehow fit in a dad joke into whatever thing you are talking about.
S
o, I was walking through my calm, suburban neighbourhood when the wet, glimmering shine of freshly placed cement caught my eye. “F.A.N.-TASTIC,” I said as I approached it with a hunter-like determination, but from a third-party perspective, my cringing towards the cement paralleled the awkwardness of saying goodbye to a friend and then proceeding to walk with them in the same direction. I got there, eventually. There, I was, a few steps away from destiny. In my head, I was already painting a mural or the classic, “Candice was here,” in the centre of the cement canvas. My name isn’t Candice, but I find that name funny for some reason. As I stuck my oversized index finger over the cement, I noticed a mannequin dressed as a construction worker holding a sign. At the top of the sign, in big, bold letters it said: “Helloooo Stranger! Don’t do It,” proceeded below by a small font size message that only a viewer who was as close as I could observe. Helloooo Stranger! Don’t do it. This cement floor was finely handcrafted by hard-working folks around these parks, and it would be a complete, painful shame if we had to clear out another one of your creative doo-doos. Could we possibly interest you in walking a few blocks down and defacing a different cement floor? Or, there is a great coffee shop up the street that you could go to? Ok. I see you are still standing before this wet cement. And I understand that maybe you’re right to do this. It is not often that you walk across a chance like this. And now that the opportunity has risen once more, you are bound to take it.
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