the Running of the Hot Dog Vendors

The sun was setting in slow motion over a street packed with silvery-shiny vending carts which sparkled in the colours of the evening, burly men with anchor tattoos once again huffed and puffed behind the carts as their little wheels raced over the cobbled street and our annual event was rounded out by young adventuresome men who ran in front of the hot-dog carts trying not to get hit. Spectators stood by in awe.

The seasonal Running of the Hot-Dog Vendors once again went off without a hitch. Certainly there were injuries as it is to be expected. You can't make an omlette without cracking a few eggs and you can't hold a public event with hundreds of pounds of weinners whizzing by and not expect a cracked clavicle. The important thing is that we all came out and showed our civic pride.

As I write this for our town's fine community paper, a hot-dog lies poised on the table next to me. There can be no greater testament to the spirit of America than the hot dog. The myriad ingredients inside brings to mind the variety of cultures which have contributed to America. The singular nature of the weiner reminds us that we are all united. The ketchup that is often added to a hot dog reminds us of the blood that has been shed for the freedom which we all enjoy. Finally the bun is the soil of this fine land that holds us all in place and without it we might roll off the plate, onto the floor and under the fridge, a place which is almost never cleaned.

God Bless you Hot-Dog and God Bless the Running of the Hot Dog Vendors !!