31.0

It's 7:00 PM, and I just had a whole block of chocolate cheesecake, this means I can't blog. So I'll copy and paste something I did write earlier when I was sober and not as tired. Yeah, it's only 7, but it's DARK outside and I have it embedded in the depths of my soul (if I have one) that DARK = NIGHT and NIGHT = SLEEP therefore DARK = SLEEP. This combination of events leads to situations in which I make up proofs for everything, and crave more cheesecake. This is a total lose/lose. Anyway I guess it's a good idea to put this stuff up here (by up here I mean on the internet in general) so that if my computer explodes or whatever I'll always have this snippet of a story saved on the interwebz forever... Thanks, interwebz.

Below the weeping street lamp there lay a boy curled up in a ball and fast asleep. This boy wasn’t a bum and he wasn’t a runaway. Why, he hadn’t a scratch on his body or a trace of dirt underneath his fingernails but there he was, asleep beneath a weepy street lamp. He hadn’t a blanket and he hadn’t a pillow, yet he slept with a smile on his lips and a glow of warmth in his cheeks. and yet there he was, asleep beneath a weepy street lamp.

Through the night, the boy was left alone. When morning came, the few passers by paid him no heed. The men and women who sat at the bus stop just across the street could not be bothered to say “Good morning” to the person they sat beside, let alone take notice of a sleeping boy across the street. No, they were people of much too much importance to trouble themselves with a thing as silly as that. Because no one took notice of the boy, he stayed asleep for quite a long time. He didn’t so much as stir at the clack of women’s shoes or the hiss and rumble of the buses.

Many people walked beside that street lamp that day, and it wasn’t until around noon that things started to get interesting.

“Rebecca, I told you to stop fiddling with that thing,” said a woman.
“I’m not fiddling,” answered a little girl holding a balloon. She made it bob up and down with a flick of her wrist.
“I’m telling you, Rebecca,” the woman continued, “if you keep fiddling with that thing it’ll become loose and you’ll lose it to the skies. And I won’t get you another one.”
Rebecca gazed up at her rubber bubble on a string, completely unfazed by her mother’s words.
“Ok,” she replied, bouncing the balloon as they walked.

When they approached the corner of the sidewalk, Rebecca immediately turned her attention toward the sleeping boy still huddled up under the lamp which was no longer weepy.
“Mom, is that a person?” she asked, losing grip of her balloon as she reached to point at the boy. But Rebecca’s mother wasn’t listening.
“Oh, Rebecca. What did I tell you? If you think I’m going to walk all the way back to that stand to get you another one you’re extremely mistaken.”
“But mom,” Rebecca persisted, “is that a person?”




Right, now the next time I come on to this blog, seeing this post will remind me, "oh yeah, I did that huh?" and maybe that will make me laugh.