I, Ray Sofalati, wished there had been a film crew present. The guys who did the old NFL highlights would have known exactly how to shoot the sweaty 32oz bottle as it spiraled to target. There's only one thing that I hate more than a grown man on a unicycle, a grown man on unicycle juggling for a group of amazed, Japanese tourists. I'd never seen him before but he appauled me.
Since moving to town I'd learned to live with the hippies and the hipsters, the bike punks and street kids, but this rolling juggler would not be tolerated. The scene was perfect, a crowded farmer's market on an overcast Portland saturday morning. Way too many people for anyone to pay attention to me. My roomate Mongo had caught wind of plan just by looking at my face.
"I know what your going to do. It's wrong...but I really want to see it. Please wait until I get over to that bench before you do it."
At this point you may question my choice of amunition. It was just there on the ground, unopened-- sweet electolytes abandonded, never to refresh, never to quench the someone's wayward thirst. Gatorade offers too many options, most of them suck. That's probably why it had been left.
My aim was true. I hit the guy right bewtween the scaps and he went down face first into the grass. Lucky, I guess. I walked away slowy as the crowd converged. There was one tourist guy with really orange hair who just kept taking pictures. He kept saying the same thing over and over but it was in Japanese so I didn't understand. Some of the girls were trying to hide their Asian giggles but not doing a very good job. One of them picked up the juggler's balls.
Mongo walked up to me, big smile.
"Dude, that was gorgeous. You're so mean!"
Then we got coffee.