Tableau

On my way to lunch and back to my office, I often pass a porn store. Porn shop? Establishment with pornography available for retail purchase. When I passed by Friday on my way back from Zen Palate, the door was open and blasting "You Can't Hurry Love" by Phil Collins. A defeated-looking man with dreads had his face down in his hands, sitting on the doorstep. Sitting about 3 inches in front of him was a shredded, decrepit brown glove.

I was going to theorize about the scenario, but I think it's probably more interesting to put the details out there and then let you use your own imagination.