As I sit outside with my Pajamas, on- the rain falls and splashes on the pavement, the only thing I can think of is,
Where is my Star Turtle?
And Star Turtle giggles. As the cars pass they make thundering splashing sounds that ring through the street. The birds are as loquacious as usual.
Kitty Sjofn coughs because of the dust and smoke from the road. Flip flops and slippers drum toward the north, neighbors using their umbrella to shield them from the cold.
Garbage trucks empty the trash on Gullick Avenue. Produce warehouses start their days. An airplane flies overhead to make altitude.
Still, I freeze from the 70-degree weather. Peeling cigarettes make scratching sounds in the ashes tray.
Poops vibrate the plastic chairs.
Star Turtle giggles and smiles and yawns, rubbing his right arm with his left because it is cold.
Still, I have the chickens cock-a-doodle-doing. And the birds are cooing. The cars never stop going from Dillingham to Bannister, then up to King.
The reverse alarms of delivery trucks blare for their shipments. Today is Friday, and we are cutting it close.
Hey, wait a minute I smell bacon and eggs, but do not feel the rice that stuck to my shirt.