The Last Canyon


We were headed home from a week in southern Utah where we had spent many hours hiking and ohing and ahing at many canyons and formations.  We stopped to get gas and to grab a quick lunch at a sub and pizza shop.  As we were starting to eat, an unusual looking man came in and went to the counter to place his order.


Don’t look.

I’ve already seen it and I’m trying not to.


Oh, no. Now what’s he doing?

Jeez, how gross.

Has he finished ordering yet?

Now what?

He’s filling out a contest form?

Oh, ick. Hurry up. Can’t you write faster?

Oh good.  Here comes a cop. Maybe he’ll say something to him.

I can’t believe it.  He hasn’t said a thing to him. If that’s not indecent exposure….

He’s not going to do anything.  Probably doesn’t want to do the paperwork.

Or he doesn’t think anything of it.

Gross. Pull up your pants.


I don’t care if he hears me.  He’s the one who should be embarrassed.

Why do they do that? It can’t be comfortable having your ass hanging out like that. I can’t imagine a woman doing that and not caring.  Ever heard of working woman’s crack?

Yeah, they call it cleavage.

Oh, yeah. And guys break their necks to get a better view.  Can you imagine wanting a better view of that?


Oh, good.  He’s sitting down.


Can you imagine showing off your cleavage if it was covered with pimples and sprouting pubic hairs?

Please.  I’m trying to eat.

If cleavages looked like that, sexual harassment would come to a screeching halt.

No joke.

Well, I can tell you this.  I hope that’s the last canyon like that I see for a good long time.

Me too.

You finished?

Yeah, let’s go.