Pile of crap
I’m going through all the stuff we pulled out of the attic. Most of really is a pile of crap. The problem is that mixed in with all this junk are true treasures. That means I actually have to go through each box carefully. Unwrapping every hunk of junk to uncover the things we want to keep. I keep worrying that I’m missing something.
Couldn’t really call him a friend. Probably spoke five words to him all the time I knew him. He spoke even less to me. He was a homeless man who slept in the bushes at the end of our street. I gave him food a few times. Once he flagged down the police because he thought someone was breaking into our house. It wasn’t, but it was nice of him.
He died on a cold night. I wish I could have done more for him, but he was hesitant to accept help. I never found out his story. He often seemed to be in pain. Makes me feel lucky for all I have.
Punk Goddess approaches. Clothing shed. Alarm clock buzzes.
I thought she carried the seeds of discontent, but actually they were just discounted seeds.
With Donald Trump as president our puns must become weaponized.
Augmented reality, artificial intelligence, aluminum walls and an empty teddy bear.
Writing is a vice. It clouds the mind and hurts the ones around us.
Millennial Bugs Bunny, “Whatever Doc.”
Photo by mikefats