Under the weather.


Why are plastic chairs slippery? I stretch my legs on the wall and my ass slips forward. It’s irritating. What do I do though? It’s great out there in the backyard this time of the day, everyday. The sky traffic is constantly on the move. There are things better than human interaction.

The plants under my knees are prickly yet soothing. We live in a building surrounded by buildings which are among many other buildings. The cement flooring burns like hellfire at noon but there’s calm. I hear birds, the wind and television sets on high volume. The adjacent building has a few trees which give me shade while I upward at the electric wires blocking my view of the sky. I wish there were things I could be happy about.

Happiness comes from within. If it doesn’t, it means you’re not empty inside. I smile at the airplane that flies above and wave like I used to. It was two decades ago. Nothing happened then, nothing is happening now. I still wave though. That smile was happiness, this is pity. But it feels good to be alone and be foolish.

You’re alone, nobody’s watching, there’s quiet and you can be stupid. This is home.

21 thoughts on “Under the weather.”

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