Pale, slightly mushy-looking male, age somewhere in mid-forties. Hair dyed obviously black. "The Magic of Sex", "The Good Vibrations Guide to the G Spot", "101 Nights of Grrreat Romance" and about ten different titles from the R.L. Stine "Goosebumps" series, which mostly serve adolescent reading needs, if you didn't know.
Only historical antecedent: 1992. Working as a bagger at Crystal Lake Jewel/Osco, often the early morning or late night shifts. Elderly people with shopping carts are infinitely hazardous. Anyway, midnight hour approaches register station 3, the cash-only aisle. Handsome man, nicely dressed, can't be a day over 30. Into his plastic bag we place one economy-sized bottle of "personal" lubricant, two white roses, a package of 12 Trojan ribbed propholactics, and a very large frozen Butterball turkey. It is mid-June. Either there is some serious apologizing going on or....well, you know. Not quite the stuffing Aunt Dot was fond of. Especially if you knew Aunt Dot.
Moments ago: Aggresively attired black gentleman with solid black outfit circa Eazy-E 1989, and black face paint applied psuedo-Darkthrone fashion is moonwalking up Milwaukee Ave., ghetto blaster on his shoulder pumping UGK quite loudly. He makes eye contact with no one else on the street. Jon hopes he comes back. We remain indifferent, fearing the genesis of another neighborhood tourism goodwill streetperformance outlet.