The jugs of water, the spiral sausages, the laundry, parking the car in just the right place. I decided to entertain myself with a little garden work between the squalls.
Grandma's tea has grown aggressively this month, reaching above the sill.
It will get whipped, no doubt, but its a tough ol' bird.
The gaura droops under the weight of rain. Or is it the heavy atmosphere?
It wasn't until I started picking up the remains of sexual activity in the woods of Prospect Park with the Litter Mob that I understood that the paper towels I find in the side yard garden are the remains of sexual activity on our corner. What delight. As I worked the yard today, I flung each rag onto the sidewalk. Then, one by one, neighborhood ladies (the old school) emerged to hang out, chattin' it up about hurricanes and flowers, flooding streets and lousy gutters, which trees will fall and how my landlord caught one prostitute pooping in the front of our building.
A squall came on and we returned to our buildings. I took a shower.
Looking for the "like" button, and the "ick" one too!
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