Mr. Pickles, RIP?

One recent evening, as I strolled home down 20th, I noticed something wrong in the Mission. Mr. Pickles, beloved mascot of the sandwich shop that bares his name, was standing out, after hours, all alone in the cold. There wasn't even a cable tethering him to a pole or tree.

My instinct was to grab him, to secure him under my arm and squire him home, where I could shelter him until morning and return him to his parents (unharmed, of course). But it was not to be. I was gripped by the fear, and that is what sealed Mr. Pickles' eventual fate. What if the police saw me-what would they think? The worst of course-that I was a crass thief, bent on desecrating this sacred landmark, and not a local heroine at all. I must admit that I am embarrassed by my cowardice. It did not help that he is-or was-constructed of solid wood and looked to be quite heavy.


Now what local color will serve as a foil for my portraits of visitors to our fine neighborhood? The plywood cutout of "Krusty the Clown" over by the high school? I think not. The point is, I guess, that I didn't speak up. I did not act, and for that I will always feel ashamed. That and the fact that the day I shot Eric's portrait was the day that my late camera, after much training, had at last learned to detect and 'expose' evil.



Citizens-particularly you of the Burningman persuasion, be on the lookout for our preserved vegetable idol. I think there is a reward.
Note to owners-please offer a 1/2 sandwich option, even if we must also buy a soup or chips. Not all potential customers can digest an ICBM in one sitting and I, for one cannot save it for later. It would fall not under the category of "leftovers", but that of "used food".