It’s a Johnny Cash Easter, everybody!

I’ve been listening all morning and I dunno, it just feels right.

At this moment, he's all crooning about John Henry and his steel driving man-type antics. Its all got this folklore feel to it, which is as parabalistic * as it’s gonna get for this holiday, so why not?

Mornin’, starshines. Sleep well?

I did, thanks for asking. Coupled with the all the coffee I’ve had it’s been one. Fun. Morning. So far.

Already took my long-ass stroll on the river walk before the families and happily married people took over the area, leaving little room for us solo-type adventurers.

An observation: the majority of the folk walking this morning were the elderly of the community, who like to say “good morning” to each and every passer-byer.

So, when the sun is shining and the ducks are quacking and I feel as though a god damn white picket fence is gonna spontaneously sprout up around me any second, I also like to say, “good morning” to those who pass by.

“good morning!” “mornin’” “good morning!” “good morning” “GOOD MORNING!”

And so on.

It’s worked out well for me, so far. People, in general, seem to enjoy the friendly gesture from a stranger having a good time taking in the fresh air and stuff.

So, I thought nothing of it this morning, when an older couple with silver hair approached, I smiled and said:

“Good morning!” quite loudly.

Their response?

Stone. Cold. Silence.

They just kept a walkin’.

Feh!

Dissed by your grandparents in matching track suits!

Look, I know I appeared a little homeless because I had just rolled out of bed. I know my hair is a little too scary flaming red in the bright sunlight. And who knows what evil lurks in my eyes behind my big black Jackie-O sunglasses, but c'mon.

It’s Sunday morning. Let’s not start throwing stones and being judgmental and all that, okay?

I mean, you’re senior citizens. You live for that "good morning" shit, umm, don't you?

* yes, I am pretty sure I made that one up - don't bother with the dictionary -