Sadly, a Familiar Sight

The other night I was cruising into my hula practice and glanced over to spot this:



A single pair of mens very-worn tighty whitey briefs. Just hanging out to dry, I presume. I giggled and snapped the shot to share with you.

Now, the thing is, mens briefs hanging from the line is not an unusual site for me. Back in my SF days I used to see them frequently. My third-floor apartment had a kitchen window that overlooked the roof deck of the Chinese church next door. And at that church lived a peculiar gentleman named Bob. Bob is Eastern European, a pushing chatterbox, and evidently a self-launderer because his undies were often hanging outside my kitchen.