Of course whichever contractor the city hired would likely misunderstand the directive and mistakenly label them “Motor Oil Disposal Grates” instead.

And Bethany, I just don’t know. Maybe Perry the Pipe is a kind of Rorschach test, a walking repository of human transgressions, more bulletin board than confessor, since, alas, he’s powerless to forgive or condemn. But he doesn’t look like he’s wanking to me. He looks like something he took has him all wound up like a firecracker, and he stands on the cusp of an onslaught of ill-considered actions. Jacked up not off, if you will.