Plastic Dallas

I saw a billboard today that bothered me. Though I'd seen it a thousand times before, even knew the guy who headed the campaign responsible for it, today it seemed as though I was seeing it for the very first time or perhaps seeing it through a new set of eyes. It happened during my noon walk. I haven't been hungry lately when lunchtime rolls around at the office, and going out to lunch with my co-workers and listening to them blather on about contextualized direct-response marketing success rates has become physically painful. Because of this, I've taken to solitary walks around the neighborhood during my break. Today, I stepped out onto Pearl street from the south entrance of the building. All the offices in the neighborhood let out for lunch at about the same time each day, and all the office drones loaded into their imported cars and spilled out of parking garages onto the street, clogging them immediately. I walked past them along the empty sidewalk. They sit in their sealed cages, breathing processed air while blowing their exhaust in my face. It was a beautiful spring day, with the crippling heat of summer still months away and the winter's stinging kiss yesterday's memory. The sky was clear, a bright glowing turquoise, and overhead the sun beamed down warm rays that cut through the cool March breeze. I continued my walk until I came to Woodall Rogers Expressway, where Pear passed over the highway. I waited for the light and continued across, over the angry hum of the cars racing below. Their collective heat blasted skyward, creating a change in the direction and temperature of the breeze as I crossed over the highway. I was halfway across when I noticed the billboard, facing south against the northbound traffic. It was billboard for a cancer treatment center. It read, "We specialize in a unique form of cancer...Yours."