This afternoon I heard thunder so loud it shook the old metal cart I was pushing across the street. “Oh Shit”, raindrops big as golf balls splat! on the pavement. There’s trouble everywhere I go; I’m halfway kidding about not coming back, but I’m halfway not kidding, too.
I work too much, I know; I am my mother’s daughter. At work I feel productive; at home I feel lazy, mundane, and alone. Yesterday I talked with the wandering flute player; he kept saying “work is totally overrated!” and rambled on about overthrowing the IRS and a tv for every home.
There is a definite temperature change while walking home, as the elevation rises. I notice the sweat on my arms turning to mist, take a deep breath full of fog instead of dripping humidity.
