Blowin' up.

Random Grady elevator moment:

I'm riding on a random elevator one random day and in steps this gentleman who appears to be somewhere between forty and fifty. He has bandages over his arms and lower legs, and someone has attempted with painstaking detail to cornrow his hair into several tight-ish braids which are fraught with peril considering that his probable European descent afforded him baby fine, stick straight hair. The giant jersey he was wearing was swallowing him up like Jonah in that whale, but this look was intentional for sure. Bandages or no bandages--this dude could not be more content. He tapped the bottom of his box of cigarettes, getting himself ready to go outdoors for a good smoke.

"What's up, doc?" he spoke with a raspy voice.

"Not much. You doin' alright sir?"

"Yeah, main. I'm doin' good now. But real talk, doc, I'm sayin', Grady pretty much saved my life!"

"Wow. That's great. Car accident?" I immediately jumped to the thing we are most known for--trauma.

"Naaawww! I got burnt! Like bad. Guess what happened, doc?" He kept tapping the box of Newports. I liked his voice. It was somewhere between Wolfman Jack and Samuel L. Jackson which, combined with his slippery cornrows, ginormous neck tattoo and surprisingly toothless grin, made him memorable and decidedly blogworthy.

"I can't even guess."

"My house. It jest blew up, for real. Like 'BOO-YOW!'"--he added in some jazz hands--"That sh@& straight blew the f--- up. It was crazy, doc!"

I decide that I am amused at people who randomly feel comfortable dropping happy f. bombs in the presence of complete strangers.

"Wow, that sounds crazy! Looks like you were really fortunate."

"Hella fortunate."

"Were you in the house?"

"Yeah, main. . . . but I got my azz up outta that piece. Then it was like 'BLAAAMMM!' Windows was breakin' and all kinda sh@%! I'm sayin', I coulda died for real."

"For real for real," I cosigned.

"Yeah. . . they was all like, 'What happened, folk?' and main. . . .I just laughed and told my peoples, 'Shiiiiiddd, I'm blowin' up!" He laughed at the play on words. I did, too. "Tha's so they wouldn't be all worried and sh@$."

Wow was he at ease with his potty mouth. I tried to picture his whole crib imploding windows and all.

Hmmmmm.

"So . . . .like. . .what made your house blow up, though? That sounds kind of crazy. . . .like. . . what were you doin' in there?" Immediately after I said that I chuckled, but then suddenly froze -- putting my hand over my mouth and widening my eyes.

Right then we reached the ground floor and the doors flew open. He slid a cigarette out of the pack and placed it behind his left ear. With a throaty laugh he stepped out of the cabin ahead of me.

"See, now doc? Now, you askin' too many questions."

And with that, he bid me adieu and headed off to smoke his square.

Being the nerd that I am, I entertained a differential diagnosis for things that might make entire houses blow up. Not a very long list.

Hmmmmmm.

Yeah, doc. You asking too many questions.