Surf City, and walking, and transexual snow.

i'm outside having a cigarette, like 10 minutes ago, watching this snow hit the sidewalk and turn to water. Not even water. Just dark sidewalk. And i'm realizing this snow is just transgender rain. Just rain hiding behind this seemingly complex facade of snow. But fuck that. It's rain. Rain disguised as snow, unmasked upon contact with the street. Damn.
i'm watching these faux flurries and i notice this guy inside behind me on his cell phone. Pack of smokes in one hand, phone in the other, pressed to his ear, eyes staring into the concentrated conversational abyss we all find ourselves in, and i watch his feet. Nice sandals, like, really nice. Like, Arabian King nice. Really, great fuckin' sandals. And his feet start pacing. He's still talking, focusing solely on the conversation at hand (and in hand for that matter), but he's walking now. Forward, stop. Turn left, pace, stop. Backwards? Nope. Forward, turn, stop, repeat. And this goes on.
Normally, i'd think nothing of it. Everyone does this. Well, i suppose the wheelchair bound aren't afforded the aimless pacing luxury we un-handicapped, we 'normally capped', folks soak up on a daily basis, but on a whole, generally speaking, everyone does the pace'n'talk.
But why?
What for?
Feelings of importance? Productivity? Keep the legs working and the mind shall follow?
Furthermore, what subconscious motives lie behind the left turn? The right? Why stop-turn-shuffle and not shuffle-stop-turn?
What's the equation?
One could, arguably discern the severity of a conversation based on the pacing act alone.
Fast, sporadic turns, irregular foot movements, stamps and kicks.
Yeah, that mother-fucker's pissed.
Slow, swooning knee-bends, up to the toes and back, shifty steps and giggly walks.
Man, that guy's in love.
Could one then, theoretically speaking, decipher the subject matter by the precise motions and movements? Left-stop-right-right = Heart break? Stop-right-left-right = Surprise pregnancy? Left-Left-Left-Stop. Hey, Mom called.
There's got to be something that programs this very simple mechanism in our brains. Something so bafflingly simple that when laid in front of us, we'd 'Oh Yeah' and blush at our naiveté.
Cause simple's good. Simple's fuckin' great. When the complex warps our minds, sweet, awesome, right on. But come on, that's expected. Complication yields confusion. Yes. But when the simple occurs, and leaves our jaws dropped, eyes popped, and time standing still - or stopped? - that's what sticks. That's true genius.
So listen to this. Simple, but fucking great.
Surf City.