One of my favorite types of "typos" are those preserved possibly for eternity in cement. I've blogged a couple of times before about this phenomenon. Unfortunately, through various internet-based emotional breakdowns, I've lost those previous posts.
I'm speaking, in particularly, of the names of streets or sometimes dates being impressed into the sidewalks. I seem to spend a lot of my time looking down when I walk (probably because I'm clumsy), for I am quick to notice when one of these names or dates is incorrect. Although, incorrect isn't always the case. I know of at least one case where the name of a street was changed sometime after its original name was written in stone, as it were.
Anyway, I noticed one such inconsistency as I was walking along Eighth (8th) Street here in good old College Town. Most of the old, original sidewalks had it thusly:
But one corner just had to be a rebel:
I wonder what grade the mason who set this one up graduated from.
"I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for approval, I can tell you I don't have any. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills -- skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you leave my language alone right now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will punctuate you."