As I drive the electric cart around the campground and park, while trash shopping on the beach, sitting in my chair at the campsite, I hear people talking. Mostly, they are publically talking about relationships with spouses, friends, significant others, their kids, neighbors, god, their devices, doctors, you get the picture. Usually, a woman is talking to another woman, or a man to a man. Rarely, do I hear a woman talking to a man about relationships. Maybe, such conversations between man and woman are private, at least here in the campground.
The snippets of public conversations I overhear usually do not interest me, unless crying, shouting or laughing is involved. Since the ear cannot trespass, I have no guilt about listening. I especially would like to know why so and so drained the crying woman's bank account. What was the embarrassing situation about which the women were so loudly laughing. What did the woman do to be called a back stabbing bitch. Guess I will never know.
What really gets my interest is the stream-of-consciousness utterings of the kids racing around the campground road. Why is the kid on a Razor scooter repeating, "Batman, Batman, Batman, da da da da da da da da." What song is in the little girl's head as she rythmically rings the bell on her pink, streamered bike saying, "Do ya, do ya, do ya." Or, the skateboard racing boys shouting, "Faster than
blaster. Faster than blaster." More questions with no answers.
At least, I know that Barry Mann put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop.
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