A Walk West

The youths who painted these tires gave me permission to photograph them.

As I contemplated my new prescription for a testosterone blocker, finasteride, that my internist prescribed for my enlarged prostate, I nearly forgot some of the other depressing moments in my life.

Gunther, the semi-pug, semi-Brussels Griffon, was due for his afternoon bowel movement.  I remembered that a neighbor at the far west end of the block had been painting his tires, so I took along my camera.

Three or four young men and a young lady were swarmed around a car at the curb, talking trash, it seemed to me.  I interrupted the girl to ask if I could take a picture of the pretty tires.  She asked a young man who laughed and said I could.

So I did.