Last night, I was waiting at a bus stop. It was late, closing in on midnight, so there was goodly number of people walking around. Across the road, a group of balloons was tied to the pole. I have no idea why they were there.
A group of five men walked by, saw the balloons, began to break the strings tying the balloons to the pole, and released the multi-colored helium-filled sacks of plastic into the night air.
I Should've . . . ran over to them just as the last balloons floated away, crying, and waving my arms and stomping my feet and jumping around like an angry toddler, screaming "Those are my balloons! Those are my balloons! Why did you do that?!"
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