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As Good As It Gets

Summer is passing me buy. There are calm, warm nights, and I'm not out walking. There aren't coyotes here, I can't hear them if there are. There are suburbs near, not a farmer's field or ravine. I'm not lurking. I'm not at home. There are others about in their houses, sitting comfortably paranoid with shotguns at their darkened windows. They all belong to the neighborhood watch. See that car? He thinks you're a burglar. Walk with your head down, no, don't that's what a guilty man would do. There are lasers in the trees. Lasers in the trees.

Things are different here. Others walk at night and they have dogs and their dogs want flesh. Flesh in their mouthes, bloody and dripping.

It smells like laundry detergent, and fertilizer out there. I miss the smell of dirt, and the mountains in the distance.

I could be lurking now. Burning grasses, getting high, smoking cigarettes. I could go for a swim! But it wouldn't be the same here, there are too many people, the water too dirty.

I'll sit here instead, and one day down the road, I might wish for this.


JMH said...

Suburbs. Isolation, paranoia, and despair. The life sucked out of you nice and neat. Not a dandelion to be seen.

Anonymous said...

i enjoy your blog.

John Dantzer said...

That's because I've ate all the dandelions, and afterwards felt dandy