Shouldn’t we be doing something else besides smoking the day away keeping our eyes glued to the television occasionally commenting on this or that? But there isn’t anything to be done, and so they sit, and here I watch getting pulled into the essence of life in a little town we like to call Bay Shmitty.
Nine times out of ten I think you are wrong, but that is only because I know you so well. I hate myself when I’m like this although I’m too stubborn to change and too petty to let it go. My patience has lost its virtue and my virtue has lost patience, but what else is there to do but take it in stride and follow it through for I know that you sometimes hate me too.
Shielded by a canopy of trees I lay in my hammock with pen in hand waiting for nature to work her magic. My social security number has been erased from my head making room for more important things.