How can this be? No herons, no pathlings and no pick of the litter, unless you count what’s wrapped around my right arm. Adam at the bakery asks if I got pinched.
“You’ve, got your smiley face on.”
“I forgot it was there.”
“Is that your badge of honor?”
I get my fixative: 20 ounce coffee and ask when his mom is due back from a trip to China.
“She and my grandmother got back last night.” says Adam. “The sun didn’t come out the whole time they were there. Almost three weeks of grey skies or rain.”
Wow. Sunshine is in order. I pay for my coffee habit $1.65 which has helped send the proprietor to China and keep me here in the United States in the poorhouse. It’s called the latte factor.
“I need a punch!”
Meg and Adam are busy behind the counter, I reach for the star hole punch as I ask permission to punch my own coffee card before I drive to the park.
The Tulley is swollen with water and the canals – have almost never seen them holding this much.
I misspoke earlier. The pathlings are some illegible writing B O R ? A Faded Glory clothing tag counts as pick of the litter or trash, like the freezer pop sleeve with an Eskimo caricature on it, but I have not made Sudoku puzzle in a month, almost, due to brain freeze.
I call a telephone number which directs me to press option four and I press the four-key on the laptop instead. It’s just a mixup.
I don’t really want to tear off my bandage, but when I do, there’s a yellow smiley lanyard waiting for me by me desk.