Ointment

A middle-aged, portly man stood in front of me, donning a striped t-shirt and cargo shorts. As we waited for the light to turn green, he reached with his left hand to scratch his back. Now, watching a middle-aged, portly man scratch his back is one thing. But he lifted his shirt to scratch his back. And I couldn't help but look and see what perhaps no one should see only five minutes after having lunch. There were rolls of blotchy flesh covered in an uneven layer of gray curly hair. I was additionally englightened on the source of his itch -- a bright pink boil the size of Rhode Island. It literally shined at me beneath the sunlight, as if cheerily alerting me to the fact that it may explode any second.

I reflexively looked away, but could still see the pink boil and the man's furry hand scratching it in my peripheral vision.

The light turned green, and I stood there for a second to give extra distance between me and the Boil Man.

Now seriously.

Without visions like these, I do not think humanity would be able to appreciate the beauty and wonders of the world.