This morning, on my drive to work, I saw a large, tall man riding a bicycle. That part is not interesting. The interesting part is that, attached to the back of his pants, curled safely away from any moving parts of his 10-speed bicycle, was a large, fluffy, gray tail. The tail resembled that of a wolf's tail (or something similar). As I passed him, I also noticed that his large build made the bright blue Superman backpack strapped to his back look quite tiny. There he was, pedaling along, wolf-tail and Superman backpack in tow, headed somewhere with a purpose and a look of what seemed to be vindication on his face.
Did I laugh? Nope.
I see this guy every morning on my drive to work. He's a staple of that particular street, and I always see him, pedaling away, with tail and backpack always present. He is a part of that street as much as the large woman who wears a bright turquoise green wind-breaker while walking her dachshund, or the man who wears black shoes, black socks, black jeans, black button-up shirt, and bright, kelly green suspenders every Wednesday morning. The Wolfman is an expected daily modifier of Whitebluff Road as much as Windbreaker Lady and The Leprechaun Version of Johnny Cash.
What strikes me is that in Savannah, these sights are so common that, without their presence, others would be worried. Savannah is full of fascinating spectacles and personalities, and for me to acknowledge that those three people (Wolfman especially) are completely normal-looking and fixtures of one street has me believing that, at the already known end of my residence here, I have finally come to accept how truly weird this town is.
It's a shame, because the personalities I have grown accustomed to, such as Hot Pants - the bald and very tan man who walks Abercorn Street in cut-off, green, pleated pants and a white, short-sleeved, button-up - or Willie Nelson - the octogenarian woman with a fu manchu mustache and two very long, snow-white, braided pigtails who buys $50 in cough drops every week at Walgreens - or even Forever Alone - the man who lives across the street from Randall who walks back and forth on the sidewalk, clutching a heart-shaped pillow to his chest, are going to be characters of a town I will no longer be able to call my home in about six months.
My only hope is that I find new personalities wherever I go, but for them to be as great as the residents of Savannah, it will take a lot of muster.