Of Course I Have a Plan… Part 3 Cherokee Street (#8)

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Cherokee Street is a place I had only recently begun exploring thanks to the suggestion of Mr. Krispytreats. Prior to this cake-influenced visit, I had only been adventuring there once and had enjoyed myself immensely. Cherokee Street is a shopper’s paradise with antique shops, retail stores and my personal favorite, a little corner record store. It’s a great place to spend an afternoon if not shopping then shifting through the things other people have collected and are not trying to sell (read: so many typewriters!).

This trip to Cherokee Street, however, would not be so…carefree.

This guy knows.

This guy knows.

The cake on Cherokee Street is located at the most logical location – next to the 13 foot tall (fact) statue of a Native American that is usually a welcoming sign that you have found the Street you are looking for and your shopping adventures are about to begin.

Cake #8. At Cherokee Street

Cake #8. At Cherokee Street

So, seeing the statue, and the cake, I began looking for a place to park the car. What I found was a little inlet for one or two cars, right in front of the cake, where it would be easy for Mercutio and I to jump out, admire the cake, snap a quick picture or two and then make a quick and easy exit. This, apparently, was not to be the case.

After I parked the car and Mercutio and I walked closer to the cake, he turns to me and whispers, “I think something shady* is going on.” As I turn my head ever so slightly to see what he is talking about, the man involved in the ‘shady-ness’ looks our direction and yells, “Hey, man, you got a dollar?”

Scared almost as stiff as the Native American statue, Mercutio and I both shake our heads and indicate we don’t have any cash, when, out of nowhere this gentleman hunches down and begins a full out sprint in our direction (…I wish I was making this up…).

As Mercutio and I grasp each other in what we anticipate to be our final embrace, the gentleman rushes past us without even acknowledging our presence. Once I  feel the wind from his flight rush over us, I peek open one cautious eyeball and look around…the man is on the other side of the street talking to someone he knows, and we are left alone under the watchful glare of the Cherokee Street statue.

As we catch our breath and take each other’s pulse, we decide it was best not to stick around, and so we quickly documented our presence at the cake and exited the scene of the most awkward crime ever.

*Mercutio’s actual phrase has been edited to protect the innocent.

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