spooky philosophers disaprove of your flagrant displays of testosterone

This is what one sees these days when touring past the north side of our humble abode:

Once upon a time (this time last year) it was a backdrop the boy sprog painted for his grade six class production of Moliere’s Le Medecin Malgre Lui, now it’s proudly displayed on our back porch amidst the outdoor toys and the barbecue utensils and the spiderman umbrella lampshade and man, does it get some funny reactions. We live in what I affectionately refer to as The Student Ghetto; a neighbourhood populated almost (but not quite) entirely by students in the central core of our fair city. Our home itself is right on the main drag but is a corner lot with the other open side facing a ‘quiet’ street which is almost everything but quiet. Nobody believes children actually live in this neighbourhood because parents keep them all locked up out of the way of the halfway house residents, the sketchy corner where obviously dodgy hand-offs are made and the insane drivers who try to get from 0-60mph along the 50 metre stretches between the two main, one-way streets. Funnily enough, I haven’t witnessed much of this behaviour since Plato and the unknown guy on the left (not Cicero as the name on the bottom left would have one believe – Cicero, quite literally, did not make the cut) have been there. It’s also become a fun conversation starter. So far I’ve met 3 immediate neighbours and one traveller since its installation. So huzzah to creepy philosophers.

Oh! And Crystal wins the print as she was the only one with the nads to post an interpretation publicly and not send smut to my inbox.  Now we really do need to arrange a scotch & cigars night.


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